Mega Man X: From The Sidelines
by Erico
Summary: A Collaborative Collection of Short Stories. By the Fans. For the Fans. This is the world of Mega Man X, and these are the people who live in it...on the Sidelines.
1. Prologue: Eventual Realization

**MEGA MAN X: FROM THE SIDELINES**

A Collaborative Collection

**Prologue: Eventual Realization**

By Eric "Erico" Lawson

* * *

_March 14th, 2090 C.E_

_Baltimore, Maryland_

The explosions continued to rumble in the distance; the air raid sirens had wailed for almost three days straight until they had been mercifully destroyed by an errant tactical CGM...'CGM' standing for conventional guided missile...that had probably been meant for a far more important topic than the main weather alert station. The city had been largely evacuated following the neutron bomb, which had spared a mere handful of the once staggeringly enormous population. The only consolation the authorities could offer to the refugees was that the neutron bomb that the South Atlantic coalition was using against the United States had more limited radioactive residue, and that Baltimore would be safe to inhabit once more within a year or so.  
This was small solace to the man who stumbled through the sole district left untouched by the horrific warfare. Despite his salvation from a cruel, gasping death, he nonetheless found himself surrounded by the ruins of a place he had once called home...that his family had once...called home.  
His footsteps unsure, he stumbled through the rubble of a few collapsed and burning homes here and there, the abandoned apartment complexes, and the few brave thieves who dared to loot possessions from a warzone. They passed him by without a second glance; he didn't try to stop them, and he doubted he could have. No, madness and chaos was the order of the day. It was unlikely his more rational mind could have done anything to dissuade them. He only hoped that one particular structure had been left untouched by the sins of mankind.

* * *

His heart fell when he finished his trek and found the half standing remains of a place he had once thought of as his second home. Liandra College was a small, private institution whose main funding had come out of the Second Rainbow decades earlier. And the history building, the place that Devon Trent had worked in as Professor Green's assistant, stood starkly against the rubble of the College. Half of the building was missing, but it still stubbornly stood, three walls holding it against the sunset as the fourth, blasted to pieces by enemy bombardment, revealed the interior of the three story structure. It too, like everything else, was abandoned. He found it ironic, despite the pain of his injuries and his grief filled mental state, that it was the building dedicated to the knowledge of the past that stood when everything else was but an insurance writeoff. He made his way inside, stepping through and into the first floor's lecture hall, ignoring the dull lighting. The electricity had long since been cut off, leaving Devon to muddle his way around the building by the fading light of day.  
Moving into the offices of the building, he found the door to his former superior's office jarred open by the explosion, and books once so tidily kept on shelves fallen to the floor and ruined by the emergency water sprinklers.  
"Gone." He mumbled to himself. "All...gone."  
A glint of something unnatural in the musty smelling room of ruined tomes and old mahogany, a priceless relic in a world of Treeborg wood and fauna, caught his eye. There, on his old professor's desk sat a device partially covered by papers never quite graded.  
Devon waded through the soggy sea of historical texts on the floor and claimed the glinting object; With a small and sad smile, he fingered the object in his hand. It was Professor Green's old digital recorder, which he had used to save his lectures for later reference. Checking the charge and finding it still good, Devon walked out of the offices and back into the lecture hall.  
It was mostly routine that drove him as he sat down in the back of the room, leaning his elbows on the long table and staring towards the front where the smartboard hung cracked and forlorn. On a typical day, he would come in and observe his mentor give a lecture to the class, taking notes on technique and material covered, one of the more welcome breaks to his otherwise exhausting schedule of being Green's errand boy.  
Devon looked down at the device in his hand again, as if for the first time. He flipped open the side to look at the devices' viewscreen, checking the memory. Almost full...and he knew, with the most mindless dribble his mentor ever put out.  
A thought hit Devon then, and he pressed a series of buttons, erasing the memory to start fresh. "Sorry, Doc." Devon muttered. "But right now, I need this more than you do."  
And so he leaned back in his chair, looked up to the rubble of the floors above him, and began to speak in a clear and concise tone, managing to stumble through the date with some difficulty before collecting himself enough to continue.  
_ "My name...is Devon Trent. I don't know who will be picking this message up, or who will be hearing my voice...if anyone will...in the years to come. I would hope that I survive long enough to pass on my message in a more tangible form. But if I don't...Then at least there is this."_  
_ "My wife...my children...everyone I knew is dead now. The authorities tried to clear out all the survivors from Baltimore after the anthrax bomb hit, but...I couldn't go. Go where? A refugee camp, where despair and wailing voices echo? No. As a student of history...as a member of the staff at the now destroyed Liandra Institute of the Fine Arts...I know enough about the waves of time to recognize how harmful to the psyche such things are. Better that...better that I stumble through the ruins alone, than to face the collective grief of an entire city in an area smaller than the size of this campus. I've come back here...I suppose, because there is nowhere else to go. Where else could I go? My home...destroyed. All communication is down, and even the internet, that supposedly steadfast bastion of information has been lost in this newest conflict. I know nothing of the outside world, and it may well be...That there is nothing left._

_In the traumatic decade of 2040, humanity's tensions came to a boil at last. The population had grown to overwhelming numbers, mankind had become a stagnant creature. The demands for food, energy...all natural resources...outstripped the demand, even with technological advances. And so, as is the habit of my species, the leaders of all nations turned to the unthinkable...Total War. Some call it World War Three...others call it The Wars of 2040, putting it on an entirely different scale. For indeed, unlike the two World Wars of the 20th Century, the Wars of 2040 were brought to every nation. Every spot of inhabited land became akin to a warzone...And the toll was dire."_  
_ "Humanity almost destroyed itself. The use of tactical nuclear weapons on the battlefield left vast swaths of earth uninhabitable by human life, and the population, while no true figure can be reached, is estimated to have dwindled to 42% of its initial size. It was only then, with the planet poisoned, almost all resources consumed, and the folly of war made all too painfully evident to a new generation, that mankind reached for salvation. The nations of the world reached a unified cease fire in 2047, and it was only scant weeks later that the brightest and best scientific minds put together a group called "The Second Rainbow", referring to some archaic biblical passage or another. It took them nearly two decades to undo what politicians and the military had done in just one, and even then, it was rough going. But society, as best as it could be, was preserved, and humanity was saved from extinction. The most noticeable advancement made by the Second Rainbow during their work...was in the field of robotics. But I digress, I do not wish to talk about that. For I hope that somewhere...someone has already stored the information of that age...the age of robots...robotics...of Light, and Wily, and Mega Man. Even word of mouth will keep that legend alive."_  
Devon Trent looked around the room again, pausing his recording. For a moment, he thought he had heard an ominous creaking...but it had stopped, if it had ever existed in the first place. He shook his head and began to speak again, pushing past his exhaustion as if he was suddenly driven by a stronger force, a force that told him...  
It had to be told.

_ "Halfway through 2085, Wily and Mega Man went missing...and Light went missing as well, really, though I suspect he might just have become a hermit. In October of 2087, Mount Fuji erupted and buried all of Tokyo and the land between it and around it and the old mountain. And now...here in 2090, perhaps because Wily had pushed world tensions so high that all were on alert...the world fights again. The UN, once ignored by the nations of the world in 2040, has been completely abolished. I don't know even now why exactly this fight takes place...maybe it's not for me to know. But it is for me to record. All around me, the world is changing, humanity is destroying itself, perhaps for good, but hopefully not...All I can do, even now...is hope. Hope that the leaders of this stupid and useless war will realize their folly far sooner than last...and stop the bloodshed. There is no Wily now to terrorize the planet. There is no Mega Man to fight against him...maybe because he is no longer needed. But somehow, the rest of us still live, and the planet moves on. Theirs was but one story...there are others."_  
The creaking grew louder, turning into a groan.

_ "I don't know what will come next. I don't know what history of the planet mankind will write, and I don't know who will become the most influential. But what I do know...is that despite all of that, there will still be others with their own stories. Not every tale is publicized, not every great struggle is put into print. As for me...no, I'm not a story. I'm a statistic now. Just another person perhaps dead without realizing it...for as much as I have stumbled around today, that could well be the case._  
_"I hope...I hope that this recording finds its way into hands that will know how to use it, how to preserve it for future generations. I hope that this recording finds a tomorrow with promise in it, and not despair. And I hope that just like myself...that no matter how bad things become, no matter how dark the night...that humanity will survive, that it will WALK IN THE SUN AGAIN. There are stories untold out there...people just like me, struggling to live. And that will always be the case. I suppose in the end I have but one wish for the listener of this recording...that you look long and hard for those stories never told, never made famous. And I hope that you listen to their message well...for they may well just prove to be..."  
_  
The groan turned into a shriek, and not pausing the recording, Devon Trent flashed his eyes up just in time to scream and recoil as the building finally collapsed on top of him. The voice recorder, flung from his hand in the instant before he was crushed under tons of steel, brick, and concrete, continued to tape the final grisly moments of his life. And then came silence as the dust settled and the wind gently blew by the terrible scene.  
The voice recorder would go on recording the quiet rumbling ambience of the forgotten city named Baltimore for some time before it ran out of memory.  
It finally stopped the next morning.

After the sunset...  
And long enough to see the sun rise.


	2. A Call to Arms

_**MEGA MAN X: FROM THE SIDELINES**_

A Collaborative Collection

**A Call To Arms**

By Eric "Erico" Lawson

* * *

Sixteen years after Mega Man X first appeared for the Super Nintendo, we stand at a remarkable moment in the history of the Blue Bomber's fandom. For years, since the earliest days of the world wide web, there have been those who have put mind to word processor, pen to paper, ink to canvas, to show their appreciation for the legacy left behind by Keiji Inafune. Through art, through poetry, and through fanfiction, a generation of video game enthusiasts have remembered the Men in Blue.

Many have contributed. A few have received critical acclaim. The names of Red Draco, Jetmode, and Maelgrim (Who I use "Treeborgs" in honor of) still command instant weight and respect from the storied archivists. The "Greats", as they might be called, passed the torch on, and a second wave came. Now the second wave begins to trudge on, and their strength has gone to a third cadre. This is nothing unusual, given the ebb and flow of the unpredictable internet, the demands of real life, and change and fleeting interest. All the individual legacies out there, however, all stand the same risk; that one day, their efforts will be lost and forgotten. Some of the most brilliant creative minds have never reached their full potential, because they were never brought together.

From The Sidelines is an attempt to change that.

"From The Sidelines" began as just a small part of the overarcing Legacy of Metal, the name I've assigned all my works from Guiding Rainbow's Light to the penultimate, but now aged, Demons of The Past. FTS, like Whispers In Time, was developed as a short story collection with a twist. Instead of focusing on one event, FTS would shed light onto lives yet unexplored, times untouched and left open to interpretation, themes never honestly faced down.

And there was the beauty of it. From The Sidelines is no longer _my _project. It is _the_ project, a grand collection where the best of the best in the world of Mega Man X Fanfiction writers might leave a bit of something. In a sense, FTS is a time capsule and a gift.

We were given the world of Mega Man X in the 22nd Century.

From The Sidelines, it is my hope, will become our gift back. Whatever changes may come, whatever other games may follow, here at this point the old and the new can come together and definitively say, _"This is who we are."_

Mega Man X's setting is remarkable in its simplicity and paradoxical complexity. On the surface, it is a world of cops and robbers…Maverick Hunters stopping Mavericks to keep the peace. Beneath it, it is the century of chaos as humanity tries to develop an understanding and balance with a species of its own making that is better in so many ways. The dark themes of forced labor, subclasses, and brutal systems of law are met with the best our kind has to offer; Love, hope, tolerance and freedom. Mega Man X's world has been the playground for countless tales, and will continue to be so. It is through his eyes we see the best and worst of ourselves.

It is through our eyes and words that we can offer visions of all that might be, and will hopefully never be.

With all of that said, a project of this magnitude requires a precious resource; good writers with good ideas. And I know you're out there. Maybe you're an experienced Fanfiction writer with countless tales under your belt. Maybe you've never written a short story for Mega Man X in your life, but have the talent and gumption to try. Maybe you're a published author who wishes to dabble in something simpler, something pure…for this project, at its heart, is being done purely _to write a story._ But if you're out there, and you have a glimmer of an idea for a short story between 20-50 pages, then I want you to reach me.

A world cannot be built through the vision of a single mind alone, not if it is to be any good.

So here's the ground rules.

* * *

**Purpose and Guidelines**

1) The stories should focus on people with lesser importance; those caught in the crossfire, or characters who serve lesser roles. In other words, coming up with original characters who can provide glimpses into the mindset of Mega Man X's world as you see it, or others. The series is called "From The Sidelines" for a reason, after all.

2) Writing accounts of OCs being caught in major events is perfectly acceptable. Two chapters I'm writing detail protagonists who have to survive the beginnings of different Maverick Uprisings.

3) That doesn't mean your story HAS to be about their experiences in a major event. Hell, you could write a story about a reploid who runs a laundromat, if you knew what you were doing. Above all else, write what interests you, and what makes the muse speak to you.

4) It should be between 20-50 pages. Be sure to list "Mega Man X: From The Sidelines" at the top, and under your story title, place the name you wish to be acknowledged as. Don't think of the page guideline as a limitation; that much space will give you plenty of room to play around with and make a good yarn.

5) Don't go out of your way to avoid strong language and concepts, but don't make them the basis for the work. I'll be rating this compilation R just to be on the safe side.

6) Once you have an idea, you can apply at (visionarykasei AT gmail dot com) with your premise and a short snippet of your work in progress.

7) A project of this magnitude will require editors as well…lord knows I could use one to catch my silly little typos. If you're interested in being an editor for FTS, you can apply to the same address; (visionarykasei AT gmail dot com)

8) All applications will be considered, but not all are guaranteed to make it in. If two entries have similar themes or placement and setting, the better work will be chosen. If both are exceptional, however…

9) To place all the stories into some semblance of order and to provide a sense of continuity (Also so we don't go crazy), I will be using the Timeline I've established in my previous works. If you're worried that events will crimp your style, ignore them. I'm more concerned with years, to provide a good chronological progression. A short summary of my Timeline will follow for reference. Further questions can be directed to my above E-Mail address.

**The Timeline**

2039: Thomas X. Light graduates with his doctorate and moves to work at the Institute. Here, he meets his future best friend and partner (But rival to begin with), Dr. Wily.  
-Also this year: The Contest is held. As Wily wins it, rather than Light and his "Networks", we are led down the path to the Age of Robots.

2040: Global tensions over resources, overpopulation, and radical sects boils over with a nuclear device being detonated in Jerusalem. World War III, or "The Wars of 2040" begin.

2047: The Wars of 2040 conclude, and the "Canberra Treaty World Reclamation Consortium", a coalition of scientists, physicists, engineers, and other great minds are formed to help put a wartorn world back together. Dr. Light and Wily are a part of this group, which is eventually renamed to "The Second Rainbow."

2048: Nuclear radiation has eroded the earth's atmosphere to dangerously low levels. Ultraviolet radiation leads to failures in crop generation and countless cases of death in an already devastated population. Dr. Hyrmue, working with Light and Wily, begins the "Treeborg" project, an artificial construct which can photosynthesize in the harsh UV environment.

2050: The Treeborg project cleaves CO2 levels to a pre-1990 amount. Treeborgs litter every continent, including Antarctica. The Second Rainbow "Reboots" the earth's ozone with a high powered, stratospheric electrical discharge. The Earth is, for the moment, saved.

2052: Dr. Light and Wily, the heads of LightTech Industries, announce the Metool series robot and the latest advancement; positronic brains equipped with Asimovian heuristics in the "Core Law Module". After a scuffle and a retreat from the United States, they make Metools public domain and take up residency in Japan. Core Module run robots become the standard for decades to come.

2055: A "World-killer" comet is located soaring in from the outer fringe of the solar system, on a collision course with Earth in the year 2060. This heavenly body is named "Epoch", and the Second Rainbow dedicates the bulk of its resources into the thing's destruction. Construction is begun on a massive space station to be named SKYLIGHT, for the purpose of Earth defense from extraterrestrial objects.

2060: After several harrowing incidents, SKYLIGHT works as promised. Powered by fusion reactors and armed with a plasma "Buster Cannon" developed by Dr. Light and Wily, the last shreds of Epoch are disintegrated. The Second Rainbow is at its peak, having saved the earth countless times over.

2067: The robots vs. humans debate comes to a head, with the Second Rainbow's membership divided between those that are "Tech" (Those who support continuing technological developments) and "Anti-Tech" (Those who see technology's growth as a threat, and the reason the Wars of 2040 took place to begin with). The schism of the two factions leads to the Second Rainbow's collapse.  
-ALSO: Dr. Light and Dr. Wily succeed in creating their very first prototype "Robot Master"...An Advanced robot named Blues.

2069: During a failed experiment in matter teleportation (Warp experiments), Blues is lost and Dr. Wily is rendered unconscious. It is several years before the danger of warp technology to the human psyche is fully understood, but the damage is done.

2070: Mega Man and Roll are created.

**Original Mega Man**  
2070: Mega Man 1 and 2  
2072: Mega Man 3  
2075: Mega Man 4  
2076-2079: Mega Man 5 (???)  
2079-2080: Mega Man 6  
2080: Mega Man 7  
2081: Mega Man 8  
2082-2085 (???): Rockman and Forte

2085: Using plans stolen from Dr. Light's lab during the events of Mega Man 7, Wily succeeds in creating his own "Next-generation" robot, Zero. Operating as programmed, Zero destroys Wily and everyone in his lab, then travels to hunt down and destroy the yet unactivated Mega Man X. A last desperate coalition of Mega Man, Blues, Roll, Bass, Treble, Rush, Eddie, Beat, Auto, and Duo succeeds in putting Zero down, but not in destroying him. Only Treble (MIA), Auto, and Duo survive. Duo leaves for points unknown in the Universe.

October 15th, 2087: Mount Fuji erupts, destroying Tokyo and burying Light's lab, as well as Mega Man X. New Tokyo will be rebuilt closer to Fuji, strangely enough.

2090: The threat of Wily gone, an agitated world turns on itself one more time. This shorter war is less destructive than the Wars of 2040, but does cause the loss of a great amount of historical records, including the location of Light's lab. The United Nations crumbles, and in its place, the GDC (Global Defense Council) is created, having greater military powers and oversight than its predecessor. **(Here is something you can ignore if you like: The GDC is purely fanon.)**

**The Mega Man X timeline**

April 2117: On an archaeological dig, Dr. James T. Cain discovers the laboratory of the long dead Dr. Light, as well as Mega Man X's capsule. Briefly reading the warning, and noting the completion of the diagnostic scans, Cain activates X.

November 2117: The world is introduced to Mega Man X at a press conference.

December 2117: The first "Reploid" is built using X as a template. Mass production follows shortly thereafter.

Early 2118: Following early incidents of reploids going "Irregular" or "Maverick" and revolting against humans, Dr. Cain establishes the "Maverick Hunters" to deal with the threat. His most powerful reploid creation, Sigma, heads the force, and is only damaged after dealing with a "Crazy Red Maverick" in the southeastern United States. Shortly thereafter, Zero joins the Hunters.

June 4th, 2118: Reploid Independence Day, The First Maverick Uprising. Sigma launches all out war against humanity, and succeeds in wiping out most of the Maverick Hunter establishment. Mega Man X and Zero manage to stop his coup, but at the cost of Zero's life. (Mega Man X1)

December 2118: January 1st, 2119: Mega Man X2

2121: The Shadow Hunters Incident.

2124: The World Trial. Mega Man X defends the entire reploid race against charges in the World Court that they are a threat to humanity, given the constant Maverick presence and attacks. It is only the announcement from a Dr. Doppler, a reploid scientist about the presence of a "Maverick Virus" that leads to the case being dismissed.

2125: Dr. Doppler releases a vaccine for the "Maverick Virus", and it is administered on a wide scale. A settlement is established around his laboratory, Dopplertown, and humans and reploids begin coexisting peacefully.

2127: The Maverick Virus vaccine proves to be a placebo; Reploids in Dopplertown begin going Maverick, with Doppler leading the charge. Mega Man X and Zero succeed in putting down the third, and perhaps most sobering, Maverick Uprising. (Mega Man X3)

2128: The Laguz Island Incident

2129: The Repliforce War (Mega Man X4) highlights the continued importance and need for the Maverick Hunters' presence.

_**Over the next six years there are a few events that occur within my own stories, but I am omitting them as they're CLEARLY not canon, and thus, not important. If you wish to play off of them, E-Mail me and I'll get specific for you.**_

2155: The Eurasia Colony Disaster (Mega Man X5)  
-The Nightmare Virus/Gate Conflict (Mega Man X6)  
**I realize that this date's tenuous, but I had to put it somewhere...And making it 30 years after the last big thing made sense, considering the disrepair of the MHHQ's equipment.**

2156-21XX: Here, you've got a bit of leeway. Does Mega Man X7 and X8 happen? are they important? Depending on your outlook, they screw up the Timeline or enhance it. Not my place to decide.

2199: After finally ending the Maverick Wars, Mega Man X establishes the utopian civilization of Neo Arcadia, ending the 22nd Century with triumph and hope. (As short-lived as it may be.)

I have faith that this will be a grand endeavor that the entire Mega Man X Community will be excited about. So please. Get involved. Get creative.

And do what you love to do.

Write.

_Life is a story. You are a chapter. Fill in the pages._

-Eric "Erico" Lawson


	3. Chapter One: The Old Man on the Hill

_**MEGA MAN X: FROM THE SIDELINES**_

A Collaborative Collection

**CHAPTER ONE: THE OLD MAN ON THE HILL**

By Eric "Erico" Lawson

* * *

_Tokyo, Japan_

_Watsuhiro Grocery_

_June 17__th__, 2087 C.E._

_4:25 P.M._

It was Tomoko's first delivery, and already she hated the notion. Showing the stubborn streak predicted from teenagers, she ripped off her grocery apron and shook her head. "No, that's too far out! I was told that I wouldn't be delivering _outside_ the city limits!"

Her manager, Mr. Watsuhiro himself, shook his head, not fazed at all by the outburst. "This is a special case. You can use the grocery's scooter for this." A few of the other employees in the back rooms of the grocery store looked over and shook their heads at Sazaru Tomoko's tantrum.

Tomoko let out a sigh. "Isn't there any way that you can get someone else to make this one?"

"What, do you have some sort of pressing appointment tonight?" The manager retorted gruffly. "You wanted this job. You're a grocery carrier. And this is one of our oldest customers, which means that if you want to _keep_ this job, you will go there."

She glowered at him underneath her long jet black hair, but the manager remained unimpressed. Tomoko finally ended up bowing her head and sighing. "After the delivery, can I just drive the scooter home?"

The manager's stern visage slackened off slightly, and he nodded. "Provided you bring it back first thing in the morning. We have other deliveries we'll need to make then. Think you can handle that?"

"I'll manage." She grumbled. "How big is his order?"

* * *

_You know, he could have just said 'big enough to kill a horse,'_ Tomoko snarled to herself. Dodging through Tokyo traffic on a scooter during rush hour was hard enough. Balancing the scooter so the box of fruit, vegetables, and canned goods didn't escape the bungee cord and fly off was completely different. It had been a harrowing thirty minutes, but she'd finally escaped to the highway that led west and out of Japan's largest city.

While other traffic sped on by her in the passing lane, Tomoko went over the directions on her GPS. Her turnoff was coming.

_Almost there. _One slow and easy turn and she was immediately free of the burden of highway travel. The thoroughfare road led her on a path that sloped upwards, into a section of houses on rolling hills that overlooked Tokyo five miles away.

The neighborhood surprised her. It was one of Tokyo's few rural districts, a rarity due to the amount of open 'green space' dedicated to the properties. This was fancy living. The rich and the powerful made their home here.

The street numbers counted down, and Tomoko checked the address again.

"1987 Heiwa Drive?" She blinked and took another look around. One side of the street was evens, the other had the odds, and the road stopped in a turnabout circle with two houses and an old, weatherbeaten gate and dirt road between them. One house was 1986, the other was 1989…

And the numbers stopped there.

She pulled to a stop in the circle and frowned. "You're sure?" She questioned the GPS device. It chirped an affirmative and highlighted the number. "Stupid machine." The girl muttered, putting a hand to her forehead. "There is no 1987 Heiwa Drive, there's just that old dirt road that goes up to…"

She fell silent. For the first time, she stopped and paid attention.

Through the old rusted gate, which looked to have been long since ignored, the dirt path led 50 meters even farther up to the top of the hill, and a plateau. There stood the most unusual house she had ever seen…Normal on one side, and on its eastern flank, the structure was dwarfed by an egg-shaped metallic structure. It looked like someone had meshed a house with something out of a science fiction movie.

For a moment, Tomoko thought the house looked familiar. When she could provide no answer why, she shook it off and turned the grocery's scooter up the well-worn path.

The dirt road led to a turnaround driveway just shy of the houses' front. There was a porch about the front door, with a porch swing and a few sunfaded lawn chairs. A mailbox next to the front door was stuffed to the brim with letters and notifications.

Tomoko rolled her eyes. "Unbelievable. I came up all this way, and he's not even…"

She blinked, frowned, and arched up on her toes. Through the small glass window of the front door, she could just make out lights inside…and a shadow.

"…Home?" She finished curiously.

Tomoko watched the shadow inside for a few more moments. It was definitely moving, which meant someone was inside, and was alive. "Huh. I guess there is someone in there."

She walked back down to the scooter and picked up the box of groceries. Back up onto the porch Tomoko went, and she leveled a clean knock on the door. "Grocery delivery!" She shouted.

The shadow inside stopped moving. She waited for the house's owner to come and open up the door, but fifteen seconds passed without any sign that that was going to happen. Her face darkened into a scowl. _Now they're just trying to be a jerk. They don't want to take the groceries? Fine._

She set the box by the front door and knocked again. Again, the shadow didn't move. Tomoko tried the door and found it locked. "I'm leaving your groceries at the front door. You might want to think about coming to pick them up sometime before the fruit goes rotten."

This time, Tomoko didn't wait for a response. She stormed back down to the grocery scooter in a huff and climbed aboard. The small electric engine started with only a small whine, and she drove back down the path.

She stopped at the old and rusty gates to take one last look up. To her surprise, she saw that the porch light had been turned on, and the owner had finally ventured outside.

It looked like a portly old man. She couldn't make him out too well at a distance, but he seemed to have a white beard that reached for his stomach. He was struggling to pick up the box of groceries she had left. Tomoko almost felt sorry for not sticking around to help him. Almost.

_If he wanted the help, he would have come to the front door when I was still there. If he wants to hide from everything, that's his problem. "One of our oldest customers…" Right. He's old, I'll give Mr. Watsuhiro that much. _

Tomoko turned back around and drove off through the upscale neighborhood. A few more minutes and she would be back on the highway and headed for home. Her mind was still troubled, however. She couldn't get the picture of the old man out of her head.

Why was he living alone? Why did he try so hard to stay hidden?

And most importantly…who was he?

* * *

_June 18__th__, 2087 C.E._

_8:25 A.M._

"You mean, you didn't recognize him?" Mr. Watsuhiro balked. He had been stacking cans of crabmeat when Sazaru Tomoko's question caught him completely off guard, and he'd dropped one tin.

In her street clothes, Tomoko frowned and tapped her foot. "Mr. Watsuhiro, I don't waste my time remembering who every old man is."

"Even so, I would have thought you'd realized who it was instantly." The grocery store manager reached to the floor and picked up the dropped can of crab. "That particular customer _is_ quite famous, after all."

"Was he on TV?" Tomoko prodded hopefully.

Watsuhiro grinned and let off a chuckle. "Not by choice."

Tomoko folded her arms and looked up, thinking. "Was he a politician?"

"He couldn't ever stomach politicians."

"Did he save the world?" Tomoko asked jokingly.

To this, Mr. Watsuhiro turned serious. "Yes. More than once."

It didn't add up for Tomoko. "I don't get it. How come I don't know who he is?"

"Well, you do always seem rather shallow and self-absorbed." Mr. Watsuhiro observed. Tomoko glared at him, but the wizened grocery store owner shrugged. "Moving on, then. So you don't know who he is. Why do you want to know?"

"He…just seemed alone, was all. Tired."

"He probably is." Watsuhiro sighed. "I don't think he's stepped out of that house for two years. His neighbors have seen a lot of packages going in, and one of his robots sometimes takes the trash out, but that house is quiet these days."

"One of his…he has robot helpers?" Tomoko raised an eyebrow. "He must be rich."

Mr. Watsuhiro shrugged again. "I've got another delivery for you this afternoon, by the way. He just E-Mailed me some more things he needed."

Tomoko made a face. "Again? How much does he eat?"

"This is mostly soap and toiletries this time around. A couple of extra towels. Nothing you can't handle." Mr. Watsuhiro nodded at her, and gave another one of his award-winning smiles. "We'll see you after school, then?"

Tomoko rolled her eyes. "You're writing my checks, aren't you? I left the scooter out back for you."

"We'll have it charged up and ready for you!" Watsuhiro laughed.

* * *

She was an average student at school: Nothing too spectacular, but not a total washout, either. She normally paid just enough attention to make it through the day without being bothered too much, and made sure never to miss her assignments. Today, though, even that was impossible.

To her chagrin, Mr. Watsuhiro hadn't answered her question. She was sure that the grocery store manager was enjoying himself thoroughly over it. But who was that man…?

The teacher's ruler smashed down on the corner of her desk. Tomoko snapped back to attention and looked up with an expression like a deer in the headlights.

"Glad to see you're awake." Her instructor remarked coolly. "I was just handing out assignments for our next project."

"What?" Tomoko asked. At this, the other students finally broke protocol and started to laugh. The teacher only smiled.

"Thank you for volunteering, by the way. I'm giving you the toughest assignment, since you're so willing." Before Tomoko could protest, the teacher dropped a sheet of paper on her desk and walked back up to the front of the room.

"In front of you is a sheet of paper with a name on it. Each of you has been given the name of an influential person from the last 50 years. The requirements are also listed, but in brief, I am expecting a full biographical workup. As much as you can learn about them. Go beyond the material, though. Any idiot can dredge up a date of birth and what they're famous for. I want you to be able to tell us about the _person_. What motivated them? How did they accomplish the tasks set out for them? Then you can come back and tell us about your subject in full detail." The teacher paused, then smiled. "And yes, that means you will be presenting this in front of everyone."

A few groans later, the teacher turned to the board and jotted the new assignment up. "This is due in two weeks' time. You will have your other work assigned as normal: This is a take-home assignment."

Cursing her luck, Sazaru Tomoko turned the sheet of paper over and stared blankly at the name. She had been given the hard one, all right.

_Dr. Albert William Wily._

_

* * *

  
_

_1987 Heiwa Drive_

_4:45 P.M._

"Wily." Tomoko snarled to herself. She'd powered down the scooter and was lugging the box up to the front porch of the mystery house. Of all the influential people over the last 50 years, she had to be stuck with the one man that all the world had wanted to see in prison or destroyed. "They might as well have asked me to do a report on Adolf Hitler." Tomoko set the package down and pounded on the door. "Hey! Old man! I've got another delivery for you!"

Like before, nobody came to answer the door. She looked around again and sighed. "Nobody comes out here anymore, do they?"

She tried the door handle; it was unlocked. She let herself in.

Most of the lights were out, but the dust-covered windows let in enough of the sun she could navigate her way around. "I'm coming in." She called out tentatively, box in her arms. Just like Mr. Watsuhiro had said, it had more towels and cleaning supplies than anything else.

"Looks like this guy needs it." Tomoko mused. The inside of the house was a mess. It had a stale, lived-in odor to it, and there were dishes strewn all over.

_Pssh. It's like a bomb hit this place. _She tried to find a good spot to put the box, but there wasn't one. The garbage was just too thick. _Well, I guess I can't make it any worse._ She headed into the kitchen and dropped the box next to a pile of crusty dishes. "Hey, old man!" She called out again, not really expecting an answer. "I brought your stuff in from the store. How about a thank you?"

Nobody answered. Tomoko snorted and headed back out. _Feh. Somebody who used to be famous. Now spends all his time hiding. Well, if he doesn't want to poke his head out, that's his business._

She was at the old man's front door when a shiver ran down her spine.

Someone was watching her.

Slowly, the teenager turned her head around and looked over her shoulder.

The old man was standing in the darkness of a hallway off to the left. His arms were crossed.

"You're here." Tomoko croaked.

The old man nodded. She couldn't make out too many details in the dim interior, but he had a long beard, and seemed to be wearing some kind of coat. "And you're in my house. Care to explain?" He asked, returning the remark in flawless Japanese.

"I…I deliver groceries for Mr. Watsuhiro." She explained. "My name is Sazaru Tomoko."

The lights turned on, and she covered her eyes as they adjusted. When she could see again, the old man hadn't moved.

He _did_ look familiar. He wasn't Japanese, to begin with. That coat of his…well, it had _used_ to be white, but it was still a lab coat. And those brown trousers…

"Is that so?" He mused. There was a twinkle in his tired blue eyes. "Well, thanks for dropping them off. But I'm accustomed to my privacy, Tomoko, so from now on I'd appreciate it if you just left the packages on the porch."

Tomoko blinked twice. She laughed at him. "Are you serious, old man? You could barely lift the delivery I made last night. I thought I'd save you the trouble of a hernia and bring it in today." She glanced around and shrugged. "But then again, I'd like my privacy too, if my house was this much of a mess."

"Compliment noted." His smile died out. "Now get out of here."

Tomoko ignored him. She looked up the flight of stairs by the door. "Is it true you're rich?"

"What?" The old man's eyes widened. "Who said that?"

"Well, Mr. Watsuhiro said you had a lot of helper robots, so I figured you had to be rich."

The old man looked away and shook his head. "No. And I don't have any robots anymore. It's just me now."

"I can tell." Tomoko rubbed her earlobe, and finally asked the question that had been bothering her all day. "Just who are you, anyway?"

The old man trudged towards the kitchen, all the spring lost from his slouching step. He coughed a little as he walked…he was probably recovering from an illness. "You don't know me?" He shot back curiously. "I didn't think that was possible."

"Feh, why would I know who a washed up hermit was?" Tomoko scoffed back. "You do look familiar, but I can't place it…"

"I was a very well-known scientist when I was alive." The bearded fellow answered. He opened up the box and nodded at the cleaning supplies waiting inside.

"You don't look like a ghost to me." Tomoko harrumphed. "Look, you don't want to tell me who you are, fine. I just felt a little sorry for you, was all. I should've known better."

She turned back around and made to close the door. His voice followed her out just as she shut it.

"Light."

The door stayed shut for three seconds before she opened it and poked her head in again. "Excuse me?"

"My name." The old man shrugged from the kitchen. "It's Light."

She frowned. "Light?" Memory hit her. "You mean…_The_ Doctor Light?"

The old man pursed his lips and nodded.

"As in…Rockman? That Doctor Light?"

Dr. Light covered his eyes with a hand and exhaled. "Is there another one? Yes, that's me."

"Well, what happened?" The girl demanded. "I mean, we haven't seen Rockman around for two years, and you…"

"Have been busy." Light snapped. He glared at her. "I like my privacy, all right? So just…just…Get out, all right?"

"All right, all right. Sheesh. Crazy old man." Tomoko muttered. She pulled her head out of the door.

It could have ended there. It should have, with Tomoko getting a brusque brushoff and Dr. Light retreating back into his own private little world.

But then, Sazaru Tomoko remembered something else, and suddenly, she had another reason for being there.

She poked her head back in the door, and Light let out an exasperated groan before muttering something in English she didn't understand.

_"Nani?"_ Tomoko frowned. "What?"

Light whirled back on her and switched to Japanese again. "I said you must have had rocks in your ears. I thought I told you to leave me alone!"

Tomoko smiled. "Sorry, but it occurred to me there was something you could help me with."

"I don't make robots anymore." Light snapped at her. "Especially for teenagers."

Tomoko shook her head, the glib threat rolling off her back like water. "Not what I'm interested in. See, I got an assignment today. We have to give biographies on famous people who've had an impact over the last 50 years."

"And you got my name, huh?" Light shoved his hands into the pockets of his lab coat and glared at her.

"No, not yours. Dr. Wily's." Tomoko stared evenly at him, and waited for the near perfect avatar of Santa Claus to recover from his shock white face. "Look, I don't know much. Fine. I'm willing to accept that. But I _do_ remember that you two used to work together."

Light swallowed. "A lifetime ago."

Tomoko let herself back into the house and closed the front door. "All right then. My teacher's being really picky. He wants us to learn about our subjects as people. I can't exactly go up and ask Dr. Wily why he did the things he did. After all, he doesn't like being found, and…"

"He's dead." Light cut in, shutting his eyes. Tomoko was stunned into silence for a moment. "What are you driving at?"

"Well…you knew him. You can tell me about him." Tomoko argued. "Look. You're right that I'm nothing special. But for once, because of you, I have an opportunity to actually do a good job on an assignment."

"Maybe I don't want to talk about it." Dr. Light snapped. "Maybe I should call the police and have them arrest you for trespassing."

Tomoko grinned. "No, I don't think you'll do that. Then people would know you're still around…and something tells me you wouldn't want all that attention."

Light's lower lip twitched. "I'm not going to get rid of you, am I?"

"Just answer my questions so I can get a good grade, and I promise I'll never bother you again. I'll just leave your supplies on your porch, and we won't ever see each other after I'm done with this project." She walked forward to offer her hand and stumbled over a smaller pile of papers.

Light looked away in embarrassment. "Sorry…yeah, it's a bit of a mess in here."

"I guess." Tomoko glanced around for a bit and smirked. "Hey, I have an idea. Just so I'm not in here bothering you without a reason, I'll do what I can to pick up and clean around here. That way, you get a house that isn't a disaster area…and I get the information I need to write my report. Okay?"

Dr. Light drummed his fingertips on his arm and thought it over. "I won't tell you everything. Some things are better left unsaid."

"But you'll tell me what I want to know?"

"What exactly _do_ you want to know?" Dr. Light pressed her. He leaned his weight on the back of his couch and lurched forward. "What is there to know about Albert William Wily that the world hasn't already made up its mind about? What makes you think the ramblings of one doddering old fool will make a Goddamned bit of difference?"

Tomoko backed up a few paces. A fire had been lit underneath Dr. Light, and she saw a different emotion than she'd expected. The shaking genius was on the verge of tears, and out of shame…not rage.

Light shut his eyes and turned about. "Enough. That's enough for today. If you still want to talk to me…come back tomorrow. I just want to be alone for now."

The door slammed loudly a second later, and then came the sound of Sazaru Tomoko's scooter roaring down the dirt path away from his home.

Crying, Light looked up at the ceiling. The troublesome girl had finally listened to him.

* * *

_June 19__th__, 2087 C.E._

_11:43 A.M._

"Geez, I can't believe this assignment." Tomoko's friend Yuki groaned. They were having lunch together in the park, each working on a store-bought bento box. Yuki pushed her chopsticks down into her cooled off, but still delicious Teriyaki fillet. "I have to talk about Darwin Vinkus."

"Darwin Vinkus? Don't I know him?" Tomoko asked after swallowing some of her mango soft drink.

Yuki made an irrelevant gesture. "Maybe. I think he was our ambassador for the United Nations for a while."

"Is he dead?"

"What I've dug up so far says no. He just quit his job, lives by himself these days." Yuki munched thoughtfully on a piece of fish for a bit before continuing. "But how am I supposed to know why he did the things he did? He's just another politician, isn't he? Politicians always do the things they do to work towards some future advantage."

"I guess." Tomoko agreed. "Why couldn't we get someone fun? Like Julian Moss, or Annette West?"

"I guess they figured famous actors and actresses don't change the world." Yuki smiled. She pointed at Tomoko with her chopsticks. "Hey, who did you get? I saw you scowling, but you took off for work before I could ask."

"Ah. Sorry." Tomoko made a face again. "I got Dr. Wily."

"EHH?!" Yuki exclaimed loudly. Several other people in the park looked over at them, and Tomoko tried, but failed, to quiet her friend down. "You have to research Dr. Wily?!"

"Not so loud." Tomoko snapped irritably. She leaned in closer, and Yuki mimicked the move. "Yes. I don't like it, either."

"What's there to know about him?" Yuki took another bite of rice and shrugged. "He was evil. He tried to take over the world a lot of times over the last 20 years."

"Seventeen years." Tomoko corrected her less than bright friend. "And he…" _He's dead_, Tomoko had almost said aloud. She shook it off and pressed on. "He hasn't done anything for the last two years, anyhow."

"So you have to figure out why he kept trying to take over the world? Geez, I'd hate doing that. Who knows what he was thinking? He was crazy!"

"Yes." Tomoko nodded. "But I think I might actually be able to do a good job on this."

"You don't actually mean that you'll be _studying_?" Yuki exclaimed, as though it were the worst thing in the world.

Tomoko shrugged, and said nothing. Yuki was a good friend, but she had a habit of blabbing out everything. By tomorrow, everyone at school would know Sazaru Tomoko was doing her project on the evil Dr. Wily. Tomoko hadn't exactly _promised_ Dr. Light she would keep his status as alive and old hidden, but he was going to help her with this project.

She considered it an advance payment for services rendered.

* * *

_4:25 P.M._

The lights were on and the door was unlocked when Tomoko arrived at Dr. Light's house. "Hello?" She called out tentatively, shutting the door behind her. "Dr. Light, are you in here?"

She walked out to the kitchen and saw the box of supplies she'd brought yesterday still sitting there. Everything had been unloaded out of it, though, as she came close enough to look at it…And a note had been left inside for her to find.

_I'm working on something right now. Go ahead and start cleaning up. Broom and mop's in the kitchen closet, soap and detergent is under the sink. I'd work on the kitchen first, Ms. Sazaru Tomoko…That way, we'll have some space to cook dinner. I'm assuming you've already told your parents you'll be home late tonight, as you'll be studying…the little white lies work the best._

_-Thomas Light_

Tomoko crumpled the note in her hand and scowled. "Stupid old man." She set her bookbag down on one of the table's chairs and went digging into the cabinets under the kitchen sink.

It took her twenty minutes to find where Dr. Light kept all his different plates, glasses, and silverware, unload the dishwasher, load it up again with the dishes she found in the kitchen and living room, and start it up. After that was done, she took a moment to sit down and rest.

That didn't last long before the smell of the place finally got to her. With a groan, Tomoko got up and ran around the house, opening every window she could find. A pass through the upstairs hallway took her by the thermostat, and she turned off the air conditioning out of courtesy. It was warm outside, but it would cool off, and the breeze would help to fumigate the stale air inside.

She walked back towards the kitchen and found Light hunched in front of the open refrigerator, rummaging away.

"Nice to know you're still alive." Tomoko remarked, setting her hand on her waist.

Light poked his head up, a carrot clenched in his teeth. The old man mustered an apologetic smile. "Sorry…work keepth me busy mosp days."

"So what made you think I'd stay for dinner?" Tomoko asked with a frown. "That wasn't a part of our agreement, and if you're trying to put the moves on me, I'll…"

"At ease." Light's face soured, and he pulled the carrot out of his mouth. "There's a lot more house to clean, and I reasoned it would take some time. Besides, you're a little too young for me. My tastes don't swing towards children. You come with too much baggage." He managed a chipper wink at the end to let her know he meant it in jest.

"Hmph." Tomoko folded her arms. "I'm not into older men. You're too wrinkly."

Dr. Light shrugged and reached back inside the fridge. "I'll agree with that sentiment. I'll start on dinner then. I imagine the living room needs your attention."

"What are you making?" Tomoko asked, turning for the trashed out living room.

"Hamburgers." Light called back. "With french fries."

Tomoko made a face. "American?"

"Hey, don't forget I'm _from_ America, Ms. Sazaru…or did you not remember that I'm just another foreigner?" Light whistled a bit of something to himself. "Hmm, nothing like a semi-clean kitchen again. You might not be worthless after all, little girl."

"Save it." Tomoko muttered quietly. She set about tidying up the living room, and made a note of how much dusting and vacuuming this would take...to say nothing of air freshener.

* * *

In the end, Tomoko could only work through about half of the monstrous sandwich Light set in front of her. The sheer amount of animal fat and grease from the cheese-topped half pounder was far from her usual diet. She had an easier time with the french fries.

What was left, she pushed towards the center of the table. Light was finishing up the last bites of his own, and she sighed at him. "How can you eat all that?"

"I used to smoke." Light said after swallowing. "I gave that up. I used to drink coffee. Now I settle on tea. When you get to be my age, you find an enjoyable vice and you stick to it. Eating the foods I grew up eating? That's mine."

Dr. Light motioned out of the kitchen and into the living room. "You did some good work out there. I can smell the difference."

"I'm amazed you can smell anything besides grease." Tomoko stabbed a french fry with the end of her fork and pointed it at him. "Just remember our deal. I've done your housework. Now you answer my questions."

Light wasn't pleased at the change of subject. "Hm. A deal's a deal. But remember. Some things, I won't tell you."

"Where's Rockman and the others?"

"Not your business."

"You said Wily's dead. Did Rockman kill him?"

Light's eyebrow twitched. "No. Again, not your business."

"Did Wily kill…"

Light rose up to his feet and took his plate to the sink. "I think we're done."

Tomoko blinked. "Wait! Wait, please. I'm sorry. I was just curious, was all. I'll be serious now."

Light glared at her. "My time's precious these days. Don't waste it on curiosity. Just stick to your damn report, or I'll boot you out the door."

"I'm not leaving until I learn what I need." Tomoko sniped back. "I didn't spend two hours cleaning up your mess to be kicked out. And like you said, Dr. Light, a deal's a deal."

Light sighed and shook his head. "Enough. Fine. I'm going to the living room. I feel like I need to sit down for this, and it might as well be on a soft, cushioned piece of furniture."

Though Sazaru Tomoko couldn't tell, the heavyset inventor had lost weight over the last two years. The couch barely complained as he sunk into it, and it was several relaxing seconds before Light set his hands in his lap and opened his eyes again.

Tomoko was sitting across from him, watching expectantly. "Are you ready?"

"Where's your notebook?" Dr. Light asked her. "You'll need something to take notes with."

Tomoko smiled and produced a small recording device out of her pocket. Light shook his head. "No. No audio. You do this the old fashioned way. The last thing I need is somebody walking off with a recording of my voice to give to the newsies. They gave me quite enough trouble."

Tomoko frowned and put her recorder away. "And what makes you think I've got some paper on me?"

"Use mine then." Light pulled a small notepad from his lab coat's breast pocket and tossed it over to her. A pen followed shortly after, and Tomoko plucked it from the air. "All right. So what do you want to know about Wily?"

"Is it true he worked for the United States government before the Wars of 2040?" Tomoko began.

Light raised an eyebrow. "You didn't look that up already?"

Tomoko pursed her lips. "I tried. But most information about Dr. Wily concerns what he did from 2070 and on. Nobody really seems to care about his early years. All I was able to find was a note saying he did some government work. I don't know what kind, though…"

"Hm." Light closed his eyes. "Funny. If someone were to do a report on me, they'd spend five pages talking about how I made Mega Man, and there wouldn't be even a mention of how I helped Ezriah Hyrmue make his Treeborgs."

"You did?" Tomoko was surprised. "Really?"

Light gave her a dry half smile. "I've done a lot over the years. Us old people…we can surprise you, if you're not careful." His face went serious again. "Yes. Albert William Wily. A doctor of applied mechanics, with a focus in the field of robotics. Before the Wars, he was the head of the robotics department at the United States' National Institute for the Sciences…In Redmond, Washington. You probably know very little about that place, but in the years before the war, the Institute stood for humanity's higher pursuits. It was a building dedicated to research, learning, and advancement." He paused, and saw Tomoko furiously scribbling away. "Let me know if I need to slow down."

"No, no, it's all right." Tomoko reassured him. Her pen finally came to a stop and she looked up again. "So he worked for the Institute. What did he do there? Wasn't there some big high to do about the GAIDNs? I sort of remember that."

Light pursed his lips and breathed in quietly. "The GAIDNs. _Guerilla Artificial Intelligence Defensive Neutralizer._ What do you know about them?"

"I know that Wily built them." Tomoko shrugged. "I know that the United States used those robots during the war."

Dr. Light leveled a finger at the girl. "Wily didn't make the GAIDNs. He made the robot that the United States _transformed_ into the GAIDNs. It was 2039. He called them "Kewbees"…Short for Q/B-M. _Quadriped/Bipedal Mechanoid._ The robot that Wily made was built for exploration, bomb disposal…hazardous conditions. It could go on four legs, or on two so it could have hands. It was the U.S. that turned it into a weapon of war."

Light paused, noting how Tomoko had been stunned at first, but was now jotting things down at a rapid pace. When she stopped again, it was to ask another question.

"How do you know all this?" Tomoko prodded. "I knew you were partners in the Second Rainbow, but…You worked with him before the Wars, even?"

Light shook his head. "Not exactly. Back then, we were rivals. There was an annual…well, you might call it science fair…that the Institute put on. We called it the Contest. Once a year, every department at the Institute put up its best work. First prize netted the winners full funding for that project. I didn't work with him. I knew him. I was hired in 2039 and started up the communications department. Wily and the robotics department were just down the hall from me. That year, Wily featured the Kewbee. My project was a new kind of internet…I called the Network." Light sunk into the couch a bit. "Wily won that year. He won because the Kewbee's bipedal mode ran on code that I had developed with one of the members on his staff. I eventually got over it, but for a good while, it felt as though he'd won by stealing my work."

"That doesn't sound like any partner I'd want to work with." Tomoko frowned. "If somebody did that to me, I'd want to hurt them."

Light shrugged. "I gave it to him. After that, I lost any say I had in what he did with it. He ended up being carted off to some secret government installation in the desert to work on building his Kewbees. When he found out what they were doing to his work, he escaped. In the days before the Wars started, he was on the run back for Redmond."

"Why?" Tomoko blinked. "If he was trying to escape, wouldn't that be the first place they'd look for him?"

"He wasn't trying to run back then." Light remarked. "He was trying to stop the GAIDN project. Dr. Wily was a lot of things back then…but he wasn't a coward." Light rubbed at his forehead. "He was braver than me."

Tomoko sat quietly for a moment, then set the notepad and pen on her lap. "Did he succeed?" She asked quietly.

Light stared at her with a painful expression. Tomoko sensed some agonizing memory had snapped back to his mind just then, but she couldn't voice an apology to take back the question.

Dr. Light rose to his feet with a good deal of effort. "If he had, the GAIDNs would have never existed."

The robotologist turned and trudged down the hallway. "I'm going to turn in for the night. Come back tomorrow. I think the laundry will need doing then."

Tomoko groaned. "I'm not doing underwear, you dirty old man."

Light chuckled a bit. "Fine. No delicates. I'll do those myself." He stopped right before vanishing from view and looked back at her. "Turn off the lights when you leave, Ms. Sazaru. Good night."

Tomoko nodded. "Good night…Doctor."

Dr. Light hobbled the rest of the way to his bedroom, and Tomoko made quick work of all the light switches in the living room and kitchen. She gave the darkened house one last look, made another disapproving roll of the eyes, and closed the door after her.

She would come back tomorrow.

* * *

_June 29__th__, 2087 C.E._

_5:20 P.M._

"Hm." One of the stockroom boys murmured to Mr. Watsuhiro. "No, I hadn't heard. What's wrong with Mount Fuji?"

"Geologists are saying it's starting to become active again." The store owner and manager declared. "It's nothing to worry about right now, thankfully."

"But it could change?"

"If things change for the worse, they'll let us know." Mr. Watsuhiro reassured the stockboy with a pat on the shoulder. "We've lived in harmony with great Fuji for many years now. I doubt that will change now."

The back dock door opened, and the two saw Sazaru Tomoko climbing onto the delivery scooter. "Hey, where are you going?" Mr. Watsuhiro called out.

Tomoko strapped on her helmet and looked back. "I've got another delivery to make up to that house on Heiwa Drive tonight."

Watsuhiro gave his chin a puzzled scratch. "Really? I didn't think we had a shipment going out there until tomorrow."

"Yeah, the old man asked me to bring some more pens the last time I was there." Tomoko flashed a package of old fashioned ballpoints.

"He did?" Watsuhiro thought about it, then shrugged. "Well, good job then! Get it taken care of. He's been placing a lot of orders this last week, it seems."

Tomoko managed a somewhat forced smile and nodded, flipping down her helmet visor. The electric motor started up without complaint, and the delivery girl took off into the Tokyo night.

Mr. Watsuhiro set a hand to his waist and watched her leave. "You know, she just might turn out to be a good worker after all."

* * *

_Dr. Light's House_

Tomoko tossed the pack of pens on the kitchen table. "I had to buy these to keep my manager from getting suspicious."

"That's Watsuhiro for you." Light said. He pulled the ballpoints over and slipped them into his pocket. "A good fellow, but a little gullible some days. Thanks for the pens, by the way. I've been needing some more anyhow."

"No problem." Tomoko drummed her fingers on the table. "So what am I cleaning up today?"

Light tugged at his beard. "Well…Did you vacuum everywhere?"

"Everywhere except that big egg-shaped lab of yours, which you've told me is off limits."

Light stared up at the ceiling. "Where did we leave off last time, then?"

"What, no chores today?"

"Maybe I'm feeling generous." Dr. Light remarked glibly.

_That, or you finally ran out of things for me to do_, Tomoko thought to herself. "You've walked me through Wily's years before the Wars. We were just getting started on the Second Rainbow…how he found you in Canada." She raised an eyebrow at the end of that sentence.

"You had trouble believing that."

"It confused me. If Wily had been sent to prison, why would the United States let him go as a representative and scientist?"

Light set his clasped hands down on the table and leaned forward. "They didn't give him a choice. You might call it the American plan. It was work, or rot in jail the rest of his life. It turned out to be a good decision, for the both of us."

"Maybe not for the world." Tomoko muttered under her breath. Light stared at her for a moment, as if he was contemplating a snide response. He settled on a shake of his head.

"Perhaps." Light began casually. "But if Wily hadn't agreed to join, he would have never found me. And without us, the Second Rainbow would have been a very short-lived group."

Tomoko raised her eyebrow even higher, and brought out her borrowed notepad and pen. "How so?"

"The Second Rainbow went by a different name at first." Light went on. "It was called the _Canberra Treaty World Reclamation Consortium_. CTWRC, for short, but a mouthful no matter who you are. We changed the name to the Second Rainbow, partly because of a religious reference…but also because the first death in our group carried the most weight."

"Death? Who died?"

Light closed his eyes, and wrinkles creased his forehead. "There were two others in the group that Wily and I were put in. The first was an Australian, Titus Grant. The second…the one who died…was just a boy. Not much older than you. His name was Schroeder; Schroeder Dunlap. In a lot of ways, he was the heart of our group back then. I still didn't give a damn, and Wily spent more of his time trying to put my head on straight than anything else. When we reconnected a communications network by routing old satellites together, we were able to stop France from restarting the Wars."

"…Because Paris was bombed. After the Wars were done."

"So you _have_ studied." Light cracked a half-smile. "Long story short, Schroeder was the best at what he did. He was a supreme hacker, he lived in the digital world. Without him, we would have never been able to do that." The smile faded. "He died not long after in a gas explosion. The last thing he told me was that it was up to me. Up to us."

Light leaned back in his seat and looked up at the ceiling. "Now that I think about it…"

Tomoko stopped writing. "What?" She asked him.

Light looked lost in his own world. "That was probably what caused Al to change."

The shortened version of Dr. Wily's first name surprised Tomoko. "How so?"

The old man straightened up and looked at her. "Dr. Wily never did a thing for anybody else's sake in all the time I knew him. I could even explain away what he did to help me right before the Wars began as guilt over Vanessa's death."

"Who?"

"…My fiancée. One of the first casualties." His face tightened up for a moment, and he shook his head to press on. "When Schroeder died, he set in motion a contingency virus. It took effect when we tried to boot up a communications network through the postwar satellites in orbit. Everything Schroeder had, all the data on the GAIDN project, went out worldwide. Every system that could be linked up was. His virus expanded the relay system we'd been building, and more importantly, cleared Dr. Wily's name. It wasn't long after that he was pardoned and received an apology, and those truly responsible for the GAIDN project were incarcerated. After that, Albert…I guess you could say he had hope."

"He didn't before?"

"Nobody ever believed enough in him before to make that kind of a sacrifice. Schroeder ended up bringing out a part of Wily he never believed he had: His noble side." Light sat back and folded his arms. "He did a lot of good in the Second Rainbow. We all did. There weren't a lot of projects he and I spearheaded, outside of our robots and putting Asimovian heuristics to work in the now standard robotic core module…but if you were going to look hard enough, you'd find we had a hand, however slight, in a lot of things that got done. The Second Rainbow had its beginning because of us…and it met its end because of a schism we created."

"Didn't the Second Rainbow split apart over robots?"

"To be specific, it split up because Dr. Wily and I had managed to create the next step in robotic evolution…More self-aware robots able to oversee large groups of lesser mechanoids which also had more human forms." Light stroked his beard. "Robot masters. Not everybody was comfortable with the idea. Not everybody agreed that more robots was the best thing for the world."

"They might have been right." Tomoko mused. "Considering what happened not long after the first series of robot masters went active…when Dr. Wily declared war on the world."

Light stared down at the table for several moments, and Tomoko realized she'd hit a raw nerve. "Uh…Dr. Light, I didn't mean to…"

"It's all right." Dr. Light replied, so faintly not even he believed he meant it. The old scientist stood up, took the package of pens, and turned for the rest of the house. "I think we're done for now, regardless. You have your answers, and your project is due soon. You'd best compile what you have."

"But I'm not finished." Tomoko protested. "There's more to this. There's more that I need!"

Light didn't stop walking, and Tomoko got up and followed him. "Such as?" The old scientist asked gruffly.

"Why did he do it?" Tomoko asked insistently. "Why did Dr. Wily declare war on the world in 2070? Was the claim made by Froid in 2072 accurate, that he'd just gone mad from a teleporter accident?"

Light stopped, and Tomoko whirled about him, looking him dead on in the face. "Well?" She demanded. "Was it the truth, or just a half-cooked up lie?"

Light's face darkened at the accusation. "Of all the lies and falsehoods that have grown up around Dr. Albert Wily, that is a truth you should never question. That teleportation accident was real. It happened, and Dr. Wily was lucky to come out of it alive. He wouldn't have, if Blues hadn't acted so quickly."

Tomoko blinked. "You almost sound like you're defending him."

Light seemed ready to argue again, but found that no words came to him. The truth hit Tomoko hard. "My God, you are. You're making excuses! Even if that teleporter accident caused him problems, it doesn't excuse what he did! He nearly destroyed the world…"

"…more times over than I care to recount." Light finished wearily. "And it's not something I want to talk about. None of that was. You wanted the facts on Dr. Wily's early years? You have them. You know about our team in the Second Rainbow. There's enough published about that group's exploits you should be able to cover it from there with other resources."

"And what about my other questions?"

Light got up and made ready to leave. "They're not my problem. Now get going, Miss Sazaru. You've got a report to finish."

"That's it?!" Tomoko demanded. "After everything I've done for you, you crazy old man, that's all you give me?"

Light made it to the doorway before he teetered, and started to cough violently. Her anger vanished, and Tomoko made her way to the man's side, helping to brace him upright. The old scientist nearly hacked up a lung before his coughing gave out, and he slowly came upright again.

"Geez, don't scare me like that." She chided him worriedly. "Are you going to be all right?"

"It's just some of my old habits coming back to haunt me." Light answered. He let go of the doorframe and tottered on, escaping Tomoko's grasp. "Go on. We both have our work to do."

Tomoko's first question was, of course, _what exactly would you have to work on? _She let it go, and pushed her topic one last time.

"Doctor Light? Why is it you never want to talk about how you and Dr. Wily worked together? How you got along? It's important, it'd tell me more about who he was."

A pale shadow of who he'd once been, the bearded hermit stood still, teetering left and right. "Who he was?" He asked softly, his old voice creaking past his teeth. "You always want to see the best in your friends. You ignore the warning signs, dismiss them, because of that connection. When they do finally do something so drastic it makes you re-evaluate them...it doesn't matter who you are. It crushes you."

Sazaru Tomoko watched him totter off and disappear deeper into his house. She waited for a moment, then made her own exit. Out the front door, onto the store's scooter, then back towards Tokyo.

Her project was due in three days.

* * *

_The Sazaru Apartment_

_June 30__th__, 2087 C.E._

_6:25 P.M._

"Tomoko!" Her mother said a little more loudly than before. It was enough to jar the girl from her reverie and focus back in again on the dinner table.

Her mother frowned slightly, swirling her spoon through a bowl of miso. "What's wrong with you? You've been daydreaming all day." Tomoko's father was silent on the issue, his nose buried in the _Asahi Shimbum_'s digital evening edition.

"I'm sorry." Tomoko apologized. "I just have a lot on my mind."

"Are you having problems at work?" Her mother inquired.

"No, work is fine." Tomoko was quick to announce, because even the hint of trouble at her job had been enough to make her father, a stern corporate executive, raise his gaze up towards her disapprovingly. "I enjoy making deliveries."

"Hunh." Her father went back to his reading, exiting the conversation.

"So what's wrong, then?" Mrs. Sazaru went on.

"Who said anything had to be wrong?" Tomoko protested. Her mother just watched her knowingly, and the girl finally sighed. "I'm just a little stressed out about this project for school, that's all."

"Ah, yes." Her mother nodded in recognition. "You have to do that report on Dr. Wily, don't you? Such an evil man."

Tomoko shut her eyes. "That's what I'm having trouble with. It's almost like there were two different Wilys. There was the one the world knew as the mad scientist who fought against Rockman, but the other Wily…"

"Nothing good ever came from Wily." Mrs. Sazaru snapped bitterly. The rebuttal shocked Tomoko and even made her father glance up. Her mother had a strained look on her face, as if she was struggling to keep from crying. "E…Excuse me." She got up from the table and ran into another room. The sound of the bathroom door opening and closing echoed back a bit later.

Confused, Tomoko looked to her father, who had finally set his digital reader aside. "What did I say?" She asked him. "Mom was so upset just now."

"Your mother, Tomoko…Lost her brother in the First Robot Rebellion." Her father answered the girl. "Back when you were still growing inside of her." The man pursed his lips for a moment, riding the bad memory with more control than the emotional woman. "He was a friend of mine, but he meant more to her. She hates Wily because of that. A lot of people do, for the exact same reason."

The man lifted up his teacup and took a sip, watching his now stunned and surprised daughter…step-daughter. "That was why we never told you. She didn't want to remember."

Tomoko's lower lip trembled. "I see. So I had an uncle I never knew about?"

"I know people who lost husbands and wives to that madman's robots." Mr. Sazaru replied grimly. "Be thankful you only lost an uncle."

In the back of her mind, Tomoko saw Dr. Light, and heard his cryptic words. _I could even explain away what he did to help me right before the Wars began as guilt over Vanessa's death._

Now, more than ever, she wondered what he meant by that.

* * *

_Watsuhiro Grocery_

_August 1__st__, 2087 C.E._

"What?" Tomoko blinked. "What do you mean, I don't have a delivery there today?"

"Just what I said." Mr. Watsuhiro shrugged, pausing at his clipboard with his latest inventory check. "I've received no new orders from him. But don't worry, there's plenty of deliveries around the city you need to make today." The man smiled. "And besides, as much as you complained about the trip, I'd think you might enjoy the break."

Unsteadily, Tomoko managed a weak nod for show. "I suppose."

"Well, you don't sound too thrilled." Her manager remarked, resting his clipboard under his arm. "What's bothering you?"

"Just worried about a project for school tomorrow." She told him. The girl climbed aboard the store's scooter, which was already loaded up with her deliveries for the afternoon. "Nothing you need to worry about, sir."

"All right then!" Mr. Watsuhiro called out as she gunned the engine. "Good luck!"

The next hour and a half of deliveries went by in a blur, because Sazaru Tomoko had her mind focused on one thing, and one thing only; Wondering why Dr. Light would suddenly shut himself back in his house again, and forego deliveries. She even drove up to his house again, 1987 Heiwa Drive, and tried to go inside. She found the door locked on her.

"Come on!" She shouted angrily, pounding on it louder when nobody answered. "I know you're in there!"

The house was silent. Fuming, Tomoko shouted again. "My presentation's tomorrow. What am I going to say, huh? That Wily's misunderstood? He killed people, Dr. Light! Nobody _wants_ Wily to be even partly good. I'll get laughed at, I'll get the lowest grade ever! I need to know…What did you mean? Why was he your friend? Why did he do it? Why did he do it all?!"

Even after all of that, he still didn't come to the door.

"Stupid old man." Tomoko muttered. She walked back to her scooter and drove off. She looked back again, like she had weeks before, the first time she'd driven up to this house on the hill.

Nobody came out this time.

"Stupid old man." Tomoko offered again sadly. "Don't be dead."

She drove off, and left Light and a house of bitter memories behind her.

The report was due tomorrow.

* * *

_August 2__nd__, 2087 C.E._

_10:42 A.M._

"...and so, even though Yuri Cossack may not be as famous as his robotic engineering son, Mikhail "Sergei" Sergeyivich Cossack, this world owes a great debt to the man." A male student finished his presentation, leaving the holographic projector frozen on a converted still image of the somber looking Russian microbiologist. "We cannot thank him in person, as he died fourteen years before, but he left behind a world where biological weapons have been all but neutralized. His life's work has given us a world where we need never again fear the threat of a biological bomb unleashed on a city or a nation. Yuri Cossack, member of the Second Rainbow, is a true hero."

The projector clicked off, and the class clapped politely as the lights came back up again.

The classroom's instructor nodded, a faint smile playing across his thin lips. "Well put, Mr. Suzuki. Well put." He brought up his notebook and flipped back a page. "All right. Our last presentation is from Miss Sazaru Tomoko. Tomoko, the floor is yours."

Her mouth was slightly dry as she stood up from her desk and moved to the front of the room. Tomoko loaded a datascrip with her presentation into the holographic projector, and the lights started to die down.

The first symbol in her presentation made the classroom recoil in horror and disgust.

Suspended in the air above them, silently rotating, was the massive "W" inside a circle, jagged and angled.

_"My God, that's…"_

_"She didn't get…"_

_"Oh no. Him?!"_

Tomoko swallowed, and found the motion very hard to perform. The surprise caught her off guard; she had expected her friend Yuki to have spread the news about her project days ago, but that had apparently never happened.

She had been so busy running about from school, her job, and Dr. Light that Tomoko had missed every cue of the possibility. It left her in a tenuous position, with an awestruck and horrified room she had not expected. She was frozen to the spot and unable to speak. Feebly, she turned her eyes towards her instructor, who gave her a faint nod, urging her to continue.

_Nobody else is going to give this presentation. Nobody else can, not like you. You know things that everyone else has forgotten. And for a change, you can actually get a decent grade._

"When someone thinks of Dr. Albert William Wily, this emblem is what they turn to." Her voice was hoarse at first, and the saliva finally came to give her some clarity. "Dr. Wily. The mad scientist. The instigator of every Robot Rebellion. The man who wanted to rule the world with a mechanical army. It's been 17 years since the First Robot Rebellion, and still people are affected by what happened." Her voice lowered for a moment. "It was less than a week ago I learned that an uncle I never knew about died in the first wave of attacks."

The classroom was silent.

Tomoko shook off her father's words and got back to her topic. "I could tell you all about that Dr. Wily, and show you clips from all his broadcasts. I could give you the death tolls, or show you how close we came to being enslaved and destroyed. I could talk all about how his endless battle with Rockman has defined our generation; We grew up with a little blue robot saving us over and over again, like an angel who appeared every time the Devil raised its head up. I could…but I won't."

She clicked the projector's remote, and the holographic image switched out for a flat display of an old photograph.

In it, Dr. Wily's hair was black, not silvery gray. He was surrounded by a team of engineers and scientists, and every one of them had on a white lab coat. Even though Wily himself still wore the same blue jeans he was known for, there was no glint of madness in his eyes. Only a pleasant smirk adorned his features. This wasn't the madman.

"We were assigned to dig deeper. To find out what motivated them, what inspired them. What made them do the things they did. And I wish had a good answer for why he turned robots against humanity. I don't. So I looked elsewhere, and I learned something that unsettled me. There was another Dr. Wily a long time ago. And we owe him a great deal of thanks."

The start of a video feed came up next, and Tomoko held off on the cue. "Back in 2072, it was another man who reminded the world that Wily had once been a part of the coalition that saved it; The Second Rainbow." The video recording started up, and the voice of Donald Richolds, the man who had spoken in Wily's defense, echoed over.

_"Doctors Light and Wily were a team beyond any others in the Second Rainbow; together, their genius in robotics was unmatched. Even after the Second Rainbow was disbanded, Light and Wily continued creating wonders of mechanics."_ The camera froze, and Tomoko spoke up again.

"Everyone knows that Wily and Light founded LightTech Industries together. The first of the robots we now see everywhere, like Metools, were their creation. But people think that that's all they did. They did a lot more for the Rainbow than just make robots."

Images of several major Second Rainbow projects flashed by.

"If there was something that needed doing that was mechanical, Light and Wily had a hand in it. In the earliest days of the Second Rainbow, the group went by the label of the CTWRC. Only through timely intervention by Wily and Light was the United Nations able to call out a frantic cease fire between France and a radical military group from Northern Africa. The Treeborgs? It was Light and Wily that helped Hyrmue to make them reality…on a vacation, no less. The ZOOS units had Wily's handiwork in their construction, providing the necessary component to remake earth's burned up atmosphere. Fast forward to Project SKYLIGHT, which saved the earth from Epoch. It was Wily's brainstorm that made the plasma Buster Cannon feasible, giving the orbiting defense station the weapon that would keep Earth safe from world-ending asteroidal impacts. Nobody talks about _those_ accomplishments. They've been lost in the archives, and nobody dredges them up."

Tomoko stared around the room. Some faces were paying attention. Many were still scowling, because they did not want to hear anything that went against the Wily they had grown up knowing. Her instructor, though, had set his notebook aside. That thrilled her the most.

He wasn't taking notes on her grades. He was _listening._

Emboldened, Tomoko clicked back to the earlier picture of a young and black-haired Wily. "Something else most people have forgotten is that Dr. Wily was once just another researcher working in the United States. He was the head of the robotics department in a R&D facility in Redmond, Washington; The Institute. Nobody asks anymore, where did Light and Wily meet? Whatever they are now…there was a time when they were comrades and friends. And it began here."

The photograph dimmed, save for two people in the robotics department crew; Wily himself, and a young, blond-haired woman.

"Doctor Light came to the Institute in 2039, right after graduating with his doctorate. He started up the communications department, just down the hall from Wily's own robotics department. They even met on his first day there, with Light bringing a mug of coffee and Wily's team suffering a smoky explosion from an experiment gone wrong. That same year, Wily won an annual project competition that the staff there called "The Contest." His project was a robot that could operate on its own or with human control, and could walk on four legs or two, depending on the situation. He called it the "Kewbee", a robot meant for exploration." An image of one such model flashed up, and the girl saw recognition starting to dawn in her instructor's face. He would probably remember hearing about these robots when he was little. Her peers didn't have a clue. "Contrary to popular opinion, Wily did not make the GAIDN robots that were so feared during the Wars of 2040. His Kewbees were militarized by the United States government, turned into weapons. In the aftermath of those seven years of war, they made sure he took the blame for their development and use. It was only thanks to the timely intervention of another early Second Rainbow member…a teammate on Wily's first postwar crew…that his name was cleared."

The hologram changed again, showing a grainy photograph of a young boy with a distant, mindless expression on his face. A teenager, like all the other students.

"His name was Schroeder Dunlap, and he was a hacker assigned to the Second Rainbow under Light and Wily's team. A genius in computer software and code manipulation, he was also autistic. He died in an explosion not very long after the CTWRC began its work, but he left behind three major contributions. The first was a computer virus which linked into every surviving computer server and satellite on Earth, then destroyed itself, leaving behind a full and viable network to allow much needed global communications. The second was the new name for the organization, the Second Rainbow; In the archives of the Rainbow's meeting logs from its earliest days, I found evidence that the idea for the name came from his personal logs and thoughts. And the third? The third was a file sent out along with his master virus…A historical proof, clearing Wily's name and setting the blame for the GAIDN project squarely on the shoulders of the U.S. military."

Tomoko hesitated again. Light's words about Schroeder's effect on Wily stuck with her. How to pass them along without revealing the source, though…

"I believe something in Wily changed after that." She began. "Nobody had ever done anything to help him or protect him before that. He was, by all accounts of his time in the Institute, a driven but very emotionally withdrawn team leader. Schroeder gave him his life back, and a mission. The boy's last words to Light were, "Up to you." He meant it for Wily as well, and from 2047 to 2067, the two decades that the Second Rainbow existed, Dr. Wily did his best to fulfill that promise."

Still, nobody spoke. Tomoko bit her lip; she'd been hoping for some kind of response.

"Nothing can change the fact that Dr. Wily is the villain responsible for almost two decades of violence and robotic terror. Ten years from now, when we are older, we could look into the hearts of men and see that the name Wily is synonymous with the word _monster_. But along with that bad, if you take nothing else from this presentation, remember this. The other half of his life was spent trying to make the world a better place." Tomoko brought up a more personal image of Wily in the Second Rainbow; a rare moment of camera footage taken during the robotics conference in 2052. "We look for villains to define us and set the boundaries between good and evil. We have a need to look at people through these magnifying glasses. What I have learned, and what I'll hope you all will take from this presentation is that once upon a time, Wily's heart was not as black as we all see him now." Her eyes went to the floor. "And maybe our hearts are not as white."

The holographic footage of a middle-aged Doctor Wily spoke, clearly and firmly. His life was spread out in front of him, and there was power in his words. _**"With science fiction at last becoming science fact, it is our responsibility to ensure that the **_best_** of our predecessor's foresight is implemented…not our worst."**_

"This was once Doctor Wily." Tomoko finished, freezing the image of a man with hope. "Not a monster. Just a man who lost his way."

The holographic projector clicked off, and the lights came up. Tomoko shut her eyes, and exhaled one last deep breath. Nobody said anything.

When she opened her eyes again, though, there were no scowls. A few people looked away, feigning disinterest…but the message had gotten through.

A firm hand came down on her shoulder, and Sazaru Tomoko jerked her head around. Her instructor smiled down at her, nodding slowly.

"Good work." He told her.

Just like that, Tomoko's presentation was over. Relief overwhelmed her senses as she traveled back to her seat. Wily may have been dead, but she'd done her best to look at all the facts.

What occurred to her not long after sobered her up.

There was still one old man that nobody cared about any longer.

* * *

_Watsuhiro Grocery_

_August 4__th__, 2087 C.E._

_4:27 P.M._

"Why do you want to borrow the shop's scooter tonight?" Mr. Watsuhiro asked. The grocery store manage crossed his arms, puzzled at Tomoko's request. "I don't have any deliveries that you'd need to keep it overnight for."

"Just this once." Tomoko begged the man, holding out her clasped hands. "I'll be heading out into the suburbs tonight to spend time with a friend."

"A _boyfriend?"_ The manager asked cautiously.

Tomoko shook her head truthfully. "No. Just a friend. I'll pay you back for the gas."

"Hm." The man rubbed at his chin, and gave it a few moments of thought. "Well…all right. You have been rather responsible lately around here. A bit of a surprise, given how you started out."

Tomoko shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. "Things change. And thank you."

"And don't get into any accidents!" He added, making Tomoko give him a half smile. "Yes, yes, I know you're a careful driver. So, was there anything else you needed before I sent you on your way to make deliveries?"

"Well, my friend and I are making a homestyle meal tonight. Could I get some food at discount?"

Mr. Watsuhiro laughed. "You cook as well? No. I'll go ahead and give you some. Consider it an employee bonus. You won't be getting any beef, though."

"Oh, that's all right." Tomoko smiled knowingly. "Too much red meat would probably unsettle his stomach."

* * *

_1987 Heiwa Drive_

_The Sub-Basement_

_6:52 P.M._

Light opened his eyes and let out a muzzy groan. The pain in his back was sharp today; He'd fallen asleep on the job again.

"Love a duck." The old scientist muttered. He pushed himself away from the programming console next to the culmination of his life's work and rubbed at his face. Just as he'd feared; a case of qwerty-it is, keyboard face, had set in. Not long after, a rumbling groan from his stomach spoke of a more serious problem. Hunger.

He reached for his cane and unsteadily came up onto his feet. A glance at the wall clock made him wince; he'd been asleep for ten hours, after working for thirty-two hours beforehand. It had been worth it, though…

Another subroutine in the upgrade capsules had been completed. "In case you ever get some friends, son…" Light sighed, and headed for the stairs recessed into the wall. He'd worry about what came next when he came down again. For now, _FOOD! _Was the driving thought. He'd have to settle for another package of instant noodles, probably. Filling, but certainly not nutritional. And anymore, they gave him gas.

_Could probably use a shower too…but I'm running out of time. I can feel death coming up on me._

When he exited the secret sub-basement and walked into his main laboratory, however, a new stimulus set all his senses on edge. It was a smell.

Something delicious was coming in from the kitchen.

As fast as he could, Light hobbled his way towards the kitchen and dining room, wondering what exactly was going on.

To his stunned amazement, he saw the form of Sazaru Tomoko, that troublesome teenaged girl who'd been pestering him about Wily earlier, hovering over his stove. She was stirring a medium saucepan of something, and on the counter…

_Rice balls. With sesame seeds. _His mouth watered, ignoring the protests coming from his mind. Light shook it off and spoke out with a gravelly, unused voice. "What are you doing here?"

Tomoko glanced back over her shoulder, took note of him, then returned her focus to the stove. "Cooking. What does it look like?"

"Why?" Light demanded, lingering in the kitchen doorway. "I didn't give you any more chores to do. You finished your presentation, right?"

"I delivered it two days ago, and received very high marks."

"So what are you doing back here, then?"

Tomoko reached for a soup bowl and ladled up a hearty serving, turning off the heat. She walked over and set the bowl on the kitchen table, next to a spoon and a napkin. "Taking care of a crazy old man too stubborn to ask for help." Her eyes glanced up at him, unreadable. "Now sit down. Eat it while it's hot. The vegetables will be ready in a minute."

Too hungry to argue the point, Light eased himself into the kitchen chair and took to the soup. It was fragrant and perfectly salted. "This is good Miso." He observed after his third spoonful.

"So glad you approve." Tomoko reached into the oven and pulled out a tray of skewered vegetable kebabs. The girl quickly slid the vegetables off two of them onto a plate and set it in front of the man as well. "I had a feeling you hadn't been eating well. This is what happens when you stop placing orders with the grocery store. No fresh meat. No fresh vegetables. You can't live on Ramen alone."

"There was a gentleman in the 20th century who lived into his 90's and had nothing but Twinkies and Cutty Sark Whiskey." Light scoffed. "So don't go telling me what I need to eat to stay alive."

"Fine, then." Tomoko fixed a plate for herself and brought over the rice balls. "So consider it a little bit of variety in an otherwise stupid diet."

Light munched contentedly for the next few minutes, and only spoke when Tomoko started to spoon up a second helping for him.

"You know, I remember locking my door earlier."

"I broke in." Tomoko remained unfazed by his new glower. "For a famous reclusive scientist, you sure don't have much security. I cracked your security deadbolt's frequency in a minute flat."

"I don't have much need for security these days. Or at least, I didn't until you came along." Dr. Light grumbled back. "You're becoming a much bigger pain in the neck than I thought you would be, Miss Sazaru."

"That's good to hear." Tomoko grinned at him and motioned with her chopsticks. "Dig in. There'll be plenty of leftovers."

Light took a second rice ball in hand, hefted it for a moment, then took out a bite. He waited for a moment before speaking again. "So, you said your school report went well?"

"Yes."

Light watched her for a long moment, and waited to speak until the uncomfortable silence made her look up at him. "So what did you tell them?" He asked quietly.

"I told them the truth." Tomoko answered sternly. "That there were two Wilys. The one from the Institute and the Second Rainbow…and the one the world knows. I talked about how we couldn't ignore his accomplishments just to make his sins more pronounced. Isn't that what you were trying to get across to me in all our chats? To see the whole man?"

Tomoko observed the old scientist open and close his mouth several times as he searched for an answer. None was fast in coming.

"Wasn't it?" She asked again, softer.

Light shut his eyes and looked away. "I don't know. But I'd forgotten about that myself. It was easier to." He popped another bite of sautéed shitake mushroom in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

Tomoko watched and waited until he swallowed.

"He was your friend, wasn't he?"

Their eyes locked.

"The very best." Dr. Light said.

The rest of the meal, like his evening and his life…Went by quietly.

* * *

_August 10__th__, 2087 C.E._

_4:10 P.M._

"Here's your list of deliveries, Tomoko." One of the assistant managers handed off the list without glancing at her. "I've got Hotaru already loading up the delivery scooter."

"Right." Tomoko gave the list a quick read-through. All of them were repeats, with nothing special. A liter of milk here, a kilogram of butter there…

The last one on the list made her raise her eyebrows. 1987 Heiwa Drive had put in an order. Orange juice, rice noodles, and some chicken thighs.

"Hey." Tomoko got the assistant manager's attention and pointed to the last thing on the list. "I thought this one had stopped ordering."

"I guess he didn't need anything for a while." Her superior shrugged. "Is that one a problem?"

Tomoko kept her smile to herself and shook her head. "No. No problem at all."

"Oh, one last thing, Miss Sazaru. I had a message from your mother… **"Don't stay out too late tonight!"** Have you been taking the scooter for personal use?"

Tomoko laughed at that. "Only once, a few days ago. Mr. Watsuhiro cleared it. Besides that, no. I'll try and remember to get home earlier."

"All right then." The man pointed off to the cart. "Safe driving!"

Tomoko made her way to the scooter just as two other helpers were finishing up with the loading. Thick brown synthpaper packages were stuffed into a portable cooler on the scooter's back. One of them, a boy not much younger than Tomoko from another school, saluted when she approached. "It's all set to go!"

"Thanks." Tomoko hopped aboard, tossed off her grocery store apron, and gave the boy a grateful nod. "Your hard work is appreciated!"

She gunned the engine and roared out of the shop's rear entrance.

There were deliveries to make.

* * *

She tried the door of Light's house, and was amazed to find it unlocked. She was even more amazed to find Light reclining in the living room, his nose buried in a datapad, but otherwise relaxed…and groomed.

Light heard her footsteps and glanced up, the faintest hint of a smile filling the quiet up. "You brought my orange juice?"

"Yeah." Tomoko held up the biodegradable plastic jug. "I didn't think I'd ever have to deliver here again."

"Well, I'm not dead _yet._" Light snorted. He saved whatever file he was working on and shut the datapad off. "And I reasoned, if you're just going to barge in whenever you feel like it just to try and cook me a decent meal every now and again, the least I can do is request the ingredients from the store."

"Hmph." The girl took his bags into the kitchen and set them on the table. "So what exactly do you need orange juice and rice noodles for?"

"The rice noodles and chicken are for another day. Go ahead and toss the chicken in the freezer. As for the orange juice, I developed the strangest hankering today for some pancakes and fried eggs. And you don't go without juice when you make that."

"Pancakes?" Tomoko frowned. "I've never had those."

"That doesn't surprise me. They're not exactly standard Japanese fare. It's an American thing."

Tomoko wrinkled her nose. She knew of pancakes, but had never had them for one simple reason; she didn't like how heavy western food usually was. "Are you sure that's smart with your condition?"

"Remember what I said about food being my one remaining vice?"

"Well, I'm not making them." She announced stubbornly.

Light chuckled, and ventured into the kitchen after her. "I didn't think you would know how. Today, I'm teaching you how."

* * *

An hour later, Tomoko was groaning and reclining on the couch. "Kill me, please." Her hands were over her stomach, which was very full. She'd even limited herself to only six pancakes, but it was clear she wasn't used to them. "Why would anyone want to eat these?"

"Because pancakes are easy to make, don't cost very much, provide a lot of calories, and if you do it right, taste very good." Light came back into the living room, wiping his hands dry on a towel. "Oh, come on. You're not that much in pain. I had twice as many as you did. I'll pay for it later, buuut I'll manage."

"Smelly old man." Tomoko scoffed at him.

"Smelly?" Light eased into the living room's recliner and pulled the footrest up into position. "First, I was a stupid old man…then I was a crazy old man…and now I'm a smelly old man. You do love to set the bar high, don't you?"

"Just telling it like it is." She retorted.

"Hmm." Light shut his eyes. "It's good to take a break every now and then. You might not feel the same way now, but…well, I was your age once too. You'll get there. You drink coffee?"

"I drink tea."

"It's a start." Light chuckled. He fell into thought for a few moments before he spoke up again, quieter. "You know…Al didn't always drink coffee."

"…Dr. Wily?"

"Yeah." Light opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. "Back when we first met, he never touched the stuff. It wasn't until 2040 I saw him finally take a glass. When the Second Rainbow started up, it became our great vice. You might not believe it, but those first three years after the war? Coffee was a really hard commodity to get a hold of. Maybe that's why we enjoyed it so much. Then again, maybe it was all the all-nighters we pulled. We didn't exactly know how to stop a project. We just kept going until it was done or we collapsed."

"You still don't know how to stop." Tomoko reminded him. "Or how to clean up around here. It's only been a week since I last cleaned up this place, and already it's getting messy again. I guess it's true what they say about you geniuses…you can't ever turn it off."

"As much as I've tried." Light nodded.

Tomoko groaned a bit as she leaned up from the back of the couch. "So…what exactly are you working on, anyhow?"

"My life's work." Light replied.

"What, like an autobiography?"

Light smiled, shut his eyes, and yawned. "Something like that."

Before Tomoko could respond back to him, the old man fell asleep in his chair.

Tomoko shook her head disapprovingly, and stood back up again. She retrieved a folded up blanket resting over the couch, unfolded it, and spread it out over Light's body.

"See you tomorrow." She said. Unconscious and unaware, Light said nothing back.

But as Tomoko left his house and shut the door behind her…

He did smile.

* * *

_August 16__th__, 2087 C.E._

_12:42 P.M._

"So what do you think about Mount Fuji?" Yuki asked, a very strange question from a girl whose usual pattern was boys, clothes, and movie stars. It was enough to make Tomoko look up from her bento.

"What? What about it?"

"Tomi, don't tell me you're _that_ out of the loop! They're saying that Mount Fuji's starting to heat up again."

Tomoko set her chopsticks down. "Who's they?"

"Nnnh…" Yuki wracked her brain, and put on a very humorous 'deep thinking' expression. "I don't know who exactly, but I remember the name Saladin."

"Azad Saladin?" Tomoko was somewhat familiar with the name; Her research into Wily had led her to pick up plenty of other important people who served in the Second Rainbow. She didn't remember much, but Dr. Saladin had been a geologist in the group. "So what?"

Yuki stared hard at her friend, not believing what she had just heard. Ordinarily, Tomoko should have gone crazy with gossiping. And yet she was sitting there at lunch…Distracted.

"Tomi, what's _wrong_ with you?" Yuki prodded. "You don't spend as much time with me and the other girls anymore. You're always unfocused, like you're thinking about something else. And you leave right after school to get to that job, and you don't call or talk to us at night?"

Tomoko picked her chopsticks back up. "People change." She shrugged.

"Well yes, but…You don't even care about Mount Fuji? They're saying it might erupt."

"That volcano hasn't erupted for nearly 300 years." Tomoko pointed out. She'd always been better at historical dates than Yuki.

Yuki took a bite of her rice cake and chewed thoughtfully. "I'm worried about you, Tomoko. I feel like…well, like you're slipping away from me."

Tomoko laughed. "Don't be ridiculous. I've just got a lot on my mind, that's all."

"It started when we had our last big project. Is it still bothering you? What you did?"

"What, Wily?" Tomoko shook her head. "No, that's not a problem." She thought for a bit, then amended her statement. "Well, I guess it did make me think a little more."

"What's to think about?"

"Well, you know how Dr. Light and Dr. Wily were once partners?"

"A _long_ time ago." Yuki nodded. "Back when our parents were in the stone age. They're enemies now."

"No." Tomoko shook her head. "I don't think that's it."

"So what, then?" Yuki asked. "What's bothering you?"

"I just found myself thinking that maybe there's more to it than we know."

Yuki stared at her for a moment longer, then snorted and continued on with her meal. "You're strange, Tomoko. You think strange thoughts. Besides, even if that was the case, who would you ask? Wily hasn't tried anything for two years, like you said, and nobody knows where Light went. It's just a mystery, and we've got better things to spend our time worrying about."

"Right." Tomoko muttered halfheartedly. She spaced out again right as Yuki went into a tirade about a boy after her affections, Shinichiro, and turned her thoughts inward.

Perhaps the world didn't know and didn't care about the friendship Light and Wily once had, and how it guided things…

But she had a way of finding that out for herself.

* * *

_5:12 P.M._

"Are you awake, Dr. Light?" Tomoko called into the house as she entered, the usual cloth sack of groceries in tow. No answer was immediately forthcoming, so she made her way to the kitchen and quickly set about storing the various cans away. She noticed that a sticky note, still as popular a century after their creation, had been left on the refrigerator door for her.

_**Busy working. Bake me some french fries and bring them into my laboratory.**_

"Really?" She said, half confused and half indignant. The good doctor had never allowed her into his laboratory before, always leaving the door shut and locked, conducting their interviews in the rest of the house that was, by Japanese standards, quite impressive-and expensive.

Then again, as the founder of LightTech Industries, money probably wasn't much of a concern to him.

Tomoko dug into the refrigerator's overhead freezer and took out a package of french fries; opened, and as she noted when she tossed them onto a baking pan, slightly freezer burnt.

_I had forgotten he had these back here…Thought for sure he'd polish them off by now._

Tomoko brushed the errant thought aside and turned the oven on to the required temperature. So much of western cooking, at least the kind she knew, was almost too simple by comparison. **Turn on the stove. Boil water. Mix in the ingredients. Drain them. Add the sauce. Done. **Meal in a box. Easy.

"Stupid."

Tomoko threw the french fries into the oven and set about tidying up the kitchen. Nothing too serious was left lying about; a few half drunk glasses of water, what seemed to be the crust from a sandwich. Bologna? She made a note of it for later; Light wasn't doing a very good job feeding himself. Maybe an orange would turn him around. Few people turned down an orange.

A full twenty-five minutes later (Apparently, Light didn't have a very _good _oven), Tomoko meandered towards the door to Light's laboratory. It was slightly ajar, left partway open to allow her access without letting her see inside first. Not one for being polite, Tomoko barged her way in, a plate of sliced oranges and french fries in her right hand. "Hey, old man!"

He was sitting at what looked to be a designing table, and _had_ been napping. He was shooting upright at a speed that was impressive for his age, and the white bearded scientist glanced around with a fuzzy glint in his soft blue eyes. "Eh?"

Tomoko sighed and walked over to him. "Here's your food." She dropped the plate in front of him unceremoniously and took a step back.

"Food? Oh, right, right. My fries." Light yawned, coming to again. He looked down at the plate and grunted. "What's an orange doing here?"

"You need some citrus. Eating french fries and pancakes all the time isn't good for your health."

"Bullsquat." Light grumbled. "I'm 74 years old. I don't have any health left to worry about."

"Is that so?" Tomoko pointed to his gut. "You were a little skinnier when I first met you. You've been getting fat this past month."

"I said I wanted fries. Not an orange."

"Just eat the damn orange." Tomoko snapped at him. The two stared at each other in a battle of wills, each waiting for the other to falter.

It was Light who finally relaxed into a resigned smile and looked away with a sigh. "All right, all right. Persuasive, and you have a mouth on you. And I thought I was done being badgered around by bossy girls." He picked up a slice of orange, popped it in his mouth, and chewed thoughtfully.

Tomoko glanced around the workshop, nodding slowly. Having never been in this room before, she found it quite…surprising. The rest of his house had been an absolute disaster area when she'd first arrived. But here, in his laboratory, there wasn't a socket wrench out of place. It did have a bit of a musty smell to it, but that probably had a lot to do with how much time he spent in here.

Most of his time, Tomoko thought.

"So," she said, to break the silence of his not so quiet chewing and swallowing, "you've got a nice lab here."

"Thank you." He answered calmly.

"I'm kind of surprised that you'd let me in here, actually. You've always been so secretive about it before."

Light chewed off the end of another french fry thoughtfully for several seconds. "I always hated secrets." The old man explained after he finished. "All my deepest disappointments in life came because others kept secrets from me."

"Like what?"

Light glanced at her, and Tomoko decided it would be better to let that subject drop.

"So." She said, trying to brighten the mood, "How are the fries?"

"Fine, fine. You got them crispy instead of soggy. You're getting better at this."

"Good." Tomoko glanced around the room again. "So what exactly are you working on? You said it was your life's work."

"It is."

"And a while back, you said you didn't make robots anymore."

"…I don't." Light agreed, though there was, for him, a long pause beforehand.

Tomoko crossed her arms. "My friends think I'm losing my mind, going crazy. Coming up here all the time, taking care of you…it's not normal for me."

"If it bothers you so much, you don't have to stay around." Light told her calmly. "You were the one who decided to keep helping out around here after your project was done."

"Well, yeah! Of course I did!"

"Why?" Light pushed his plate away and watched her. "What's in it for you?"

Tomoko opened her mouth, then closed it. She repeated the action a few times, stopping only when Light cleared his throat impatiently. "I need to know." She admitted. "I've been coming by for a month, and it's been bothering me constantly, and I _need to know_."

Light let out a sigh and stood up from his seat. He ran a hand through his white hair and wandered towards the laboratory's main computer. "About Mega Man."

And there it was. Dropped like a stone in the still pond neither had been willing to touch for weeks, there was the one name that weighed the most.

"Yes." Tomoko whispered.

Light set a hand in his pocket and bowed his head. "He died. They all died. Blues, Roll, Eddie, Beat, Rush…All died. Even Bass. And Treble…well, I don't know what happened to him."

"And Wily died."

"Yes." Light looked back towards her, and the weight of his age cast a heavy shadow on to her. She recoiled, for there in his memories was the chains and anchors that kept him moored to the past. To his home.

"He didn't kill Wily." Light added, and Tomoko felt relieved, for that had been her next question. It had been a horrific thought, that Rockman might have somehow broken the First Law of Robotics and killed a human, even one as evil as Wily.

"So…how did Wily die?"

"Something else killed him. And it came after us."

"Two years ago." Tomoko put in, and suddenly it all made sense.

Why things had grown so quiet.

Why there were no more Robot Rebellions.

Why Light kept himself locked away in this sad, empty house.

"No father should watch his children die before he does." Light explained, and the hoarseness in his voice almost made it impossible to understand him.

"Your children?"

Light smiled and looked to her. "They were my family. I gave them life, raised them…they were my legacy."

Tomoko nodded. She wasn't a parent, but knowing now there was an uncle dead and forgotten in her past, she could sympathize.

"So how do you deal with it?" She asked, for certainly in Light's wisdom, there was something that could help her out as well.

"With the pain?" Light considered the question. "I tried forgetting. But that hasn't worked very well, especially with you around. You remind me too much of her."

_Roll? _Tomoko thought, but did not ask.

"Mostly, I've just buried my head in my work. It's easier that way. I work until I'm too tired, then I fall asleep. When I'm hungry, I eat. And I keep working. It's all I have left in me now."

"And does it help?"

Light considered things for another long moment, and it made Tomoko a little frustrated. Perhaps old people felt they could waste time in deep contemplation, but that was not her life.

"No." He said, combing a hand through his beard. "It doesn't. What did was you."

Utterly confused, Tomoko blinked widely. "Me?"

"You." Light reaffirmed. "Your project. All this time since I lost them, I've blamed Wily over and over again. It was easy. Pass the sins on, keep no part of the tragedy. Better to hate than to pity. But you came in, and asked me all those questions. You reminded me of all that Albert and I once had."

The old man leaned against the computer console and shook his head again. "You remember…you asked me when you came back after your project, if saying there were two Wilys had been my goal all along. It wasn't. But it was what I found to be the truth."

Tomoko nodded. "Because one was a hero, and one was a devil?"

"No." Light stood up a little straighter. "Because one was my dearest friend, the perfect counterpoint. Cynical when I was optimistic, optimistic when I was cynical, a voice of clarity and humor and support whenever I needed them. Even when the Rainbow fell apart, we had our company, each other, and dreams of a world made into a better place through our robots."

"And the other?" Tomoko asked.

"The other…" Light shut his eyes. "The other was the one the world knew. The one who was left after the warp accident in 2069. That Wily, I didn't know. I never did. I still don't."

"So how did I help you then?"

"You split them apart." Light tapped the side of his head. "The Wily I knew, my friend…he died then. No matter what else happened after that, it was not my friend who did those things. It was someone else. A nightmare, the worst possible version of who he could have been. It doesn't erase the pain, Tomoko. Nothing ever does. But it helped me to understand it. To finally put it away. And now, I can wake up and feel, even if I'm no longer in paradise, that it isn't a nightmare. Just the sad truth of this world."

Tomoko nodded. "So what now?" She asked softly. "What is left for you? This project? Your life's work? What is it?"

Light smiled and shook his head. "Not today."

_Not today._ With those two simple words, Light ended their conversation.

"Go spend some time with your family and friends." Light added by way of dismissal.

Tomoko nodded, grabbing up his empty plate as she turned about. "See you tomorrow, then?"

"I'll need some clothes washed."

Tomoko snorted. "You love to torture me, don't you?"

Light waved her off, and Tomoko exited his laboratory. Light powered up the main screen and returned back to his work, scanning line after line of the encoding for his life's work.

"Roll used to say that, too." The old man mumbled.

* * *

_August 19__th__, 2087 C.E._

_5:38 P.M._

Two days later, Sazaru Tomoko returned to the house of Light and found a note that made her throat go dry.

_**If you want to see my life's work, I'm in my laboratory. Beneath it.**_

She arrived in the laboratory with a dazed expression on her face and her heart pounding in her chest. It was excitement and anticipation that was building in her, not fear, for this was the day. _This is when he'll tell me everything._ He would never have bothered with anyone else, and some part of Tomoko still didn't understand why Light would choose her to receive the gift of such ultimate knowledge, a glance into the mind of the prime genius of the Age of Robots. She suspected it might have been in exchange for the help she'd provided, the housework, the advice. Perhaps he'd favored the back and forth bickering, had simply been lonely. Perhaps Light would have reached out and befriended anyone in his sad and lonely state.

But as she glanced around the room, noticing for the first time how one worktable on wheels had been pushed aside, and a secret door was slid open and _there were stairs leading down_ to someplace she had never even known was there, Tomoko pushed aside the doubts. Whatever his reasons were, Light trusted her.

Like no adult had ever trusted her before, this quiet, sad old man had complete faith in her.

Down the stairs she went, and the natural light faded away. A pale blue incandescent glow lined the earthquake proofed stone walls of the sub-basement, filling the comparatively large room with an unnatural, but not unwelcome radiance. Here, computers newer than the ones upstairs hummed and whirred with power, machinery and gadgets of the latest tech sat waiting to be used, and there was Dr. Light himself, standing over…

_Capsule_, Tomoko thought, and the word felt right. No other one would do. Light was standing over a capsule.

On the concrete steps, her footfalls were loud and pronounced, and Light glanced up in surprise for a moment before he relaxed.

"You made it." He said.

"What _is_ all this?" Tomoko asked, agog at the sheer amount of next-generation tech at his disposal. These weren't the tools of a man on his last legs.

Light swept his arm around the room. "Monitoring station. Diagnostics panel. Energy valence readouts. Everything I need for this." And his hand came down on top of the capsule he stood beside.

Tomoko finished coming down the steps, walking towards him and the capsule. "And what exactly is…"

Then, suddenly, her throat tightened and strangled off her voice. Behind the transparisteel covering of the room's capsule, a single passenger slept. Or was deactivated. Looking at him, she wasn't quite sure anymore. But she did know that his armor was _blue_, and his helmet was _blue_, and suddenly the lights in the room and all the machines made sense.

A tear brimmed in her eye as she looked down at the sleeping robot inside of the capsule, and her fingertips traced his shape. "Rockman?"

"No. Mega Man X." Light announced, just as reverently. "My life's work. All my life since I started making robots, I've been reaching towards a point where robots could think, could feel emotions, could make their own decisions. As autonomous as real people, better than an Advanced Robot Master. This was what Wily's Demon came to destroy…who the others died protecting." He chuckled softly. "I suppose I should take some solace from that."

"What, that X is still alive?"

"That the others didn't die for nothing." The old man set a hand against the casing. "X is…The future. He's more than a robot. His brother came close to breaking through to that point." Light stilled for a moment. "Maybe he did, in the end. But X will have that to begin with. For better or worse."

Tomoko glanced between father and son. "Why do you sound worried?"

"Because I don't know what the future holds. Because I will be dead and gone before he wakes up."

"Nonsense. It looks like you could wake him up right now."

"No!" Light exclaimed, so forcefully that Tomoko jumped where she stood. Still looking afraid, he shook his head and telexed enough to keep her from panicking. "No. He's not ready. He won't be ready for another thirty years."

"So long?" Tomoko asked. "Why, when he looks ready to stand up right now?"

Light spoke hesitatingly. "Something…happened. There was another like X."

"One you made?"

The old man shook his head, and Tomoko's mind slipped in the last piece of the puzzle. "No…one that Wily…"

She looked down at X. "That's why the others died, isn't it? They died fighting the one Wily made."

"The Demon was stronger than any of us had expected. They couldn't even kill him. What was it Duo said? "This one must live, for the future." A sad future it will be." The old man was bitter. "But if Wily's greatest robot could go that berserk, then you can see why I'm so hesitant."

"You don't want X to go crazy like the other one did. And so, you're taking your time…"

"Making sure that everything will be right. Nothing can go wrong with X. He is…The world's hope." He nodded. "I've set up a scan to run. It will be thirty years before it finishes, but all that time will ensure that X will be pure of any possible anomaly. And when he wakes up, since I won't be around…I've left behind an insurance policy."

Tomoko clicked her tongue. "So after you die, he'll have…what? A journal?"

"Help." Light replied. "Answers. Support. And a warm voice he'll remember."

Whose voice?"

"Mine." The old man said, somewhere distant from where he stood.

"How…" Tomoko put a hand to her head and groaned. "Never mind."

Light chuckled. "I still confuse you, then?"

"You always did." Tomoko nudged him slightly in the arm. "Crazy old man."

"Just tired, Tomoko." He coughed a bit, hunching over X's capsule for a few moments before he recovered. "Just very tired."

"Then let's get you some dinner and get you to bed."

"Hey, now. I'm not _that_ old." Light protested, as Tomoko grabbed him by the arm and led him back towards the stairs that would take him away from Mega Man X and the sub-basement.

"You're old enough. And you've done enough. For today."

Light thought that over as they marched back upstairs. "For today." He finally agreed. "But tomorrow…"

"That's tomorrow." She cut him off. "And don't worry about it."

The sub-basement hatch door shut behind them, leaving the deactivated form of Mega Man X resting inside of his hibernation capsule.

On the monitor, a silent display intoned the countdown.

_**Time to full systems check completion…**_

_**

* * *

  
**_

_September 18__th__, 2087 C.E._

Tomoko walked back into Light's laboratory and headed for the sub-basement secret door. To her surprise, she found it locked. "Doctor Light?"

No answer came, but she could hear him mumbling faintly. She pounded on the door. "Doctor Light, answer me!"

A minute and a half later, his hobbling footsteps echoed up and the hatch opened. He stuck his head out and stared at her with a bit of irritation. "What?"

"You locked the door."

"Because I didn't want to be bothered."

The teenager stared back at him. "How about now?"

Light threw his hands up in the air and came up the rest of the way. "I give. Did you bring that air freshener I wanted?"

"Yes. It's installed in the living room. Just what were you doing down there?"

"Recording a message." Light answered cryptically. "But in spite of your rude interruption, I am glad you came."

"Yeah, the living room did need some help there with the smell."

Light laughed shortly, and the effort caused him to cough up again in convulsions. Tomoko was by his side in an instant. "I thought you said you were getting better."

"I thought I was." The old man said feebly. "But I suppose that illness really is harder to deal with when you get on in years."

"I told you to take better care of yourself." She scolded him. "Too much time in that cold and musty basement. Can't you do your work up here? I swear, if I wasn't around, you'd have died by now."

"More's the pity." Light picked up a datapad from one of the laboratory's worktables and reviewed the latest figures. "The longer I stay alive, the more things I find I need to fix."

"Has it occurred to you you're obsessing over this project?"

"Shouldn't I?" Light demanded, tapping a few buttons on his device. "We are talking about my last surviving son here. Of course I'll obsess."

"If you keep up this pace, though, you're going to die before you finish!"

The old man shook his head, as someone who knew all the answers in the universe might. "It's not my time yet. But your time here is, however, drawing to a close."

Tomoko's heart skipped a beat. "What? What do you mean?"

"I mean…" Dr. Light turned and looked at her, "…that there is nothing else for you to do around here. I have every last possible thing I'll need until I finish working on X. And you have a life of your own. You can't spend it around here, surrounded by relics." He waved his hand around the laboratory. "This isn't your place, Tomoko, or your legacy. Your future is still far ahead of you."

"I don't worry about the future." She reminded him stubbornly.

Light said nothing for a moment, then shook his head. "Funny. Wily always did."

"You can't make me leave." The teenager snapped at him. "You tried to make me leave once, and that didn't work."

"I can't _make_ you leave, Miss Sazaru…but I do want you to."

The old man had been skipping out on decent hours of sleep again, by the bags under his eyes. "But you're not leaving empty-handed."

The girl harrumphed. "Oh?"

Light headed over to the far side of his laboratory. "You've done a lot around here, and brightened up this place considerably. Even though you were a pain in my side to begin with…I actually started to look forward to your visits. They were the only way I could measure time effectively."

He reached up to a shelf where boxes of old equipment had been set. One of them looked cleaner than the others, and recently set there.

It was also light enough he could pull it down without difficulty. "So I want you to have something to remember me by."

He trudged over and set it down next to her. Tomoko stared inside, and found herself looking at a lump of green and white metal. "What is it?"

"_HE_," Light corrected her gently, "Is a robot of mine I never got around to activating. Never had the need to, and I wasn't sure how well he would get along with Rush."

He reached down and depressed a hidden switch inside of the lump. His next words came clearly. "Voice command; Power up."

Nothing happened for a moment, and then slowly, the green and white metallic lump began to move. It shuddered for a bit, and rose up on four slightly wobbly legs. A transfixed Tomoko watched as the formerly lifeless machine stretched it…himself out…

And then turned to look at her, wiry whiskers sniffling ever so slightly.

"A cat." Tomoko breathed, as she and the robot looked at each other. "It's a robot cat."

"His name is Tango." Light gently scratched the mechanical feline behind his ears, and he purred and craned his neck up into the touch.

Tomoko found herself reaching to pet the creature as well. "That's a strange name for a cat."

"I named my sons Blues and Rock, my daughter Roll, and we had a dog and bird named Rush and Beat." Light chuckled. "Just be glad we didn't call him Jazz. His name is Tango, and he's yours now."

The mechanical cat glanced up at Light and let off a curious _mmrrrreow_. "You heard right." Light told him. "This is Tomoko. She's your new own…your new friend."

Tomoko found the correction odd at first, but as she sat there stroking down Tango's back, it started to make sense. Light had always loved his robots. It made sense he'd refuse to use the word "Owner," with all of its old and offensive connotations..

"I've never had a pet before. Much less a robot." Tomoko told Dr. Light. "How do I take care of him?"

"I modified Tango a bit for you. He's got the intelligence of a Robot Master…in time, who knows? He may even have the same potential for growth that Rock did." Light smiled and stroked Tango behind his ears. "If a miraculous mistake can happen twice in this world."

He picked Tango up and set the creature in Tomoko's arms. Tango kneaded her forearms for a bit, then curled up and wrapped his tail around the end of his body. He continued to purr, and the girl giggled at the sensation.

"He doesn't need food and he doesn't need water. He can recharge his batteries by tapping into your houses' power feed or, as he'll probably prefer, solar recharge. Just have a warm place in your house where the sun comes in, and like any other cat, he'll head for it."

"So he'll pretty much spend most of his time begging for attention or taking naps?"

"Better than the real thing." Light smiled. "No poop to clean up after."

The gentle creature soon slipped into a light form of stasis, breathing in and out and purring softly in Tomoko's arms.

"Why give him to me?"

"He needs a home." Light told her calmly. "And that's not something I can give to him. At least with you, he'll have a life."

The old man's tired blue eyes twinkled. "And he deserves one."

Tomoko's eyes brimmed with tears, and she gave him a slow nod. "All right." She leaned her head down and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "Is this how you're saying goodbye to me?"

"Yes." Light was honest about it. "What did you expect?"

Tomoko laughed, a short and sad sound. "Nothing. Stupid old man."

Light smiled. "Stupid little girl." They could have shook hands or hugged…but that just wasn't their way. So Tango in her arms, Sazaru Tomoko turned around and walked away.

When she set the cat into the scooter's carrier and primed the engine, she swiveled her head around and glanced up to the front door. Dr. Light watched her from the porch.

"We met like this, you know." Tomoko whispered to herself. There was no way for Light to hear her talking, but he somehow read into the sentiment.

He smiled at her, the last smile he would ever give someone, and waved.

Tomoko turned back around and drove off. She left the past behind her in the dust…

And felt the future coming at her in the wind.

* * *

In the end, there was nothing that they could do to stop it.

Geological surveying had advanced by leaps and bounds under Dr. Saladin's watchful gaze in the heyday of the Second Rainbow, which was what gave the residents of Japan's Honshu province ample warning of impending doom. At the end of September in 2087, the last critical measurements were compiled, and the message was sent out.

Mount Fuji was going to erupt, and soon. It was going to be a big one too.

They just hadn't predicted how big, or how soon. Evacuations were slow, as Tokyo and the surrounding metropolis had grown incredibly dense in the postwar years. Japan had been one of the few tracts of land where the ravages of war hadn't landed, and it had hosted an impressive amount of companies and organizations involved in technology, most prominently LightTech Industries.

They barely got out. With the Second Rainbow disbanded and the United Nations' other member nations too complacent to act quickly, there was no chance to save any of the infrastructure.

When Mount Fuji finally did go critical, people were still fleeing in all directions by car, bus, airplane, and boat. Cars, shopping centers, baby carriages, all were left behind as the public fled, hot ash already beginning to darken the sky a somber gray and the oppressive heat of Earth's maw rising up to smother them…

On the outer edge of that massive gem of the orient lay the famed laboratory of Doctor Thomas Xavier Light. None approached it, all assumed that it had long since been abandoned. Perhaps Light had thought it was his time, the authorities thought as they whisked the last group of fleeing refugees away to safety…Left his house and laboratory behind, and gone off to someplace quieter…

Ash and pumice went in all directions, darkening the skies. Fire rained down on Tokyo like a cloud of death on the wind, and buried the once great city.

* * *

_Offshore of Honshu_

_October 15__th__, 2087 C.E._

_9:24 A.M._

Far, far out from Tokyo Harbor, floating in open water and steaming a course north away from the coming volcanic maelstrom, the ship _Isamaru _bobbed low in the waves from its crowded decks full of huddled people.

Sazaru Tomoko and her family were aboard; some of the lucky ones who did not have to risk flying through an atmosphere made stormy and toxic from dust.

Amidst the sobbing from the other survivors and her own family, Tomoko found herself clutching tightly to Tango. The robotic cat, unsure what exactly was going on, gave into the moment and accepted the embrace.

"It's gone." Her mother wept. "Our homes, our jobs, it's all gone."

_And none of that matters_, Tomoko thought, hugging Tango tightly enough that the pet who'd caused such consternation on his first arrival in the Sazaru household finally let out a warning hiss. "Sorry, boy." She relaxed her grip, and Tango pulled himself up to his favorite sitting position in her arms.

Out there, somewhere in the worst of Fuji's wrath, the house of Light was being wiped out of existence. Had he made it out? Tomoko didn't know for sure, but her heart told her no. He had been too dedicated in his work. Too committed to keeping Mega Man X safe.

He had probably died making sure that his legacy, his last surviving son, would continue to live. Faced with such power, it was unlikely that he'd succeeded.

"It's not fair." Tomoko told Tango. The metallic green feline robot stared out at the cloud of destruction, and let his tail slide lazily about. "It wasn't supposed to end like this."

Tango's ears flicked, and he glanced up at her. In those calm, accepting optics, Tomoko saw her reflection. Unable to speak, Tango just gazed sympathetically.

Tomoko closed her eyes. "But we never have a choice in how it gets to end. Do we?"

Satisfied, or perhaps just bored, Tango let out a very un-robotic yawn and settled in for a power nap.

With Tango quiet on the subject, Tomoko shut her ears to the noises of despair around her and clung to the one thing she did have control over.

Nobody else on Earth would ever remember what Dr. Light was like in his final days. Nobody else would ever remember that he had sacrificed everything for a dream and a life that had yet to be lived. Nobody would believe her if she told them.

But as they were her memories, nobody else could take them away. Houses and cities and a nation's heart burned and died.

Tomoko's memory remained.

So she remembered.

* * *

_New Tokyo, Japan_

_November, 2117 C.E._

_6:47 P.M._

Sazaru Tomoko remembered Dr. Light and Mega Man X, exactly as she had promised to. She grew up, as all young women do, settled down, started and raised a family of one girl, one boy, and one mischievous but always loyal mechanical cat in a house on the outskirts of New Tokyo that was very much like the one she remembered visiting all those years before.

Tango remained the constant and tangible physical proof of her encounter with that far gone legend. After she reached 39 years of age, and the drudge of dealing with teenagers of her own had sapped away much of the savvy that had seen her through her youth, she would have moments where her own memory faltered. _Did all of that really happen?_ She would ask herself, and for a brief moment, sitting there in her quiet living room where nothing exciting ever happened and life was peaceful, Tomoko would think that all of her time delivering groceries to Dr. Thomas X. Light at 1987 Heiwa Drive was nothing but some concocted piece of madness.

She would doubt all of her memories, and reach a point where she even started to contemplate no longer remembering-but then Tango would jump up onto the couch and crawl into her lap, kneading her skirt ever so gently in the way that a cat wanting attention does, with his claws only slightly extended. Tomoko would laugh and sate the beast's craving with a good five minutes of scratching behind his ears and underneath his collar, and everything would slip back into place. _It was real_, she told herself, assured for another few months in her life as a housewife that YES, she wasn't crazy, for the proof was sitting in her lap. And Tango, a remarkably well preserved specimen of LightTech Industries engineering, kept enduring on his solar powered nap recharges and enjoying his life as a housecat in a home where the children were at last gone, moved out, and starting their own lives.

Sazaru Tomoko remembered, and then one day, when she was 46, the world woke up.

It was late November, and the chill of winter drove Tango to any warm spot of the house he could find. Today, that was one of his favorite spots; on the couch, curled up beside Tomoko's leg, eyes shut and body purring as he soaked in the last bits of sunset's light. Tomoko drank a cup of green tea, casually flipping channels. "See anything good on?" She asked Tango. The robotic cat dozed on, giving little concern to what didn't interest him in the slightest. "Well, _you're_ no help." Tomoko muttered, flicking his ear. Tango let out a purring meow and went silent again.

Tomoko kept flipping through the broadcasts, getting into the news programs. She passed by another station, where a flash of blue caught her eye. She was on the next channel before she was able to react and flip back.

It was video footage of a press conference earlier in the day, and a banner ran underneath with a massive headline.

Tomoko didn't need the running headlines to know what she was looking at. Tears welled up in her eyes as she realized that there, standing up, alive, active, _living_ just as Dr. Light had hoped…

"Tango." She nudged her cat awake, who let out a soft yowl before refocusing his attention up towards the screen. "Tango, look." Tomoko smiled, and had to wipe her eyes to see again. "Do you know who that is? That's Mega Man X."

_"Meow?"_ Tango rumbled, confused.

Tomoko laughed, a short and sharp noise full of relief and sadness in equal measure. "Your brother." She told the small robot, who was no longer alone in the world.

Light had succeeded. Somehow, in those last hours when Mount Fuji had cast its wrath on the land, Dr. Light had found a way to protect and keep his last child safe.

The span of three decades melted away, and watching Mega Man X stand there, nervously smiling during the press conference with an old man named James T. Cain standing beside him, Tomoko heard Light's old and ragged voice speaking to her one last time.

"He is." Tomoko whispered, holding Tango close to her.

_"X is…the world's hope."_


	4. The Choice

_**MEGA MAN X: FROM THE SIDELINES**_

A Collaborative Project for the Mega Man Fan Community

**The Choice**

By Eric "Erico" Lawson

* * *

**Mavericks deserve no mercy. **

**Mavericks deserve no explanation.**

**Mavericks deserve no rehabilitation.**

**Mavericks deserve no sympathy.**

**Mavericks deserve only one thing…death.**

Those were the rules I fought by. I was a Maverick Hunter. Not one of the big ones. I didn't have the luck to be one of "Cain's boys" at the MHHQ in Japan. Hell, I've never been to Japan. Couldn't afford it if I wanted to. Not on my salary.

I was with a regional division. Our official title was "First Responders," but we had a different name for ourselves: Fodder. That was how it worked, most of the time. The Maverick Hunters were always pretty stretched out. It got worse after the First Uprising, when Sigma went rogue and decided he'd off almost everybody in the MHHQ before he left. Sure, the golden boy Mega Man X stopped him, but the damage was done. A world full of reploids stood up and realized that they could rebel, because Sigma had shown them how. A Maverick Hunter from Japan…the best of the best…had crossed the line.

It was open season after that, and with the big guns in Japan tied up most of the time, regional branches had to shoulder more responsibility, and usually with less funding. That's how they ended up with a crackpot like me.

The name's Glacier, and I'm a wolfoid; a wolf reploid. I was designed for work in Arctic climates, with a blue and white paint job to match, and I had the best and latest in condensers, self-replenishing nitrogen reserves and ice manipulators in me when I came off the line. I ended up getting assigned to Regional Maverick Hunter Base 36 two months into my life…Stationed smack dab in Colorado. Way off the beaten track, and in a dead end job.

It wasn't the worst thing in the world; you got more satisfaction out of being a Hunter than doing almost anything else. Savin' the world and all, that's something most people can get behind. It was almost enough some days to hold off all the memories of your friends who died. Somehow, I always managed to come back. Ended up rising through the ranks. I think they rated me as a Rank A…whatever the Hell that means. It made for a lonely life, and eventually I stopped caring about trying to make friends at the Hunter Base. The joke around the office was that my heart had frozen over, but that wasn't it.

I just didn't see the point in giving a damn about anything except doing the job. Mavericks were Mavericks, and I stopped them cold. Literally.

The ice was bound to crack, though. It was just a matter of when. And when, like it's supposed to, hit me without any warning.

* * *

_May 24__th__, 2120 C.E._

_New Denver, Colorado_

The Chief called me into his office that morning, looking the same as he ever did; a big old stogie jammed in his teeth, sweat stains under his arms, and some doughnut crumbs stuck in his mustache. Needed trimming, too. Of course, Captain Phil Sakfey never gave a damn what he looked like. For a human pushing into his late 50's, he sure didn't give a damn about how long he lived, either. Can't say I blame him, considering how much shit he takes in a day.

"Hate this fuckin' weather." He snapped, already sweating at 8:45. "Glacier, my AC's on the fritz again. Can't you do something about it?"

I got used to hearing requests like this, but it didn't make it any less ludicrous. Sure, it didn't bother me none, but Christ almighty, I wasn't built for climate control. Still, the chief definitely looked like he could catch a break, so I plastered the ceiling with ice for him. He looked up at it and snorted.

"Is that gonna drip all over?"

"Can't see how, chief." I shrugged. "It's carbon dioxide. Dry ice."

"Well, ain't that a fuckin' miracle." He grumbled, but managed a smile. The temperature in the room was already starting to drop as the cool air fell. He relaxed back in his chair and mopped up his brow with a handkerchief. "We just got a call in this morning." He told me matter-of-factly. "Little podunk town in Arizona. Rattler's Ridge."

"Population?" I asked, already starting to run the calculations for damage control.

"About 1400." The chief pulled his stogie out and exhaled a thick cloud of ash and smoke. "It's only one Maverick, this time."

I frowned. The Chief usually sent me in on missions where there was at least three. "Just one?" I asked him suspiciously. "What is he, some kind of really dangerous freak?"

Captain Sakfey shook his head at me. "No, no. When they called this one in, it didn't make much sense. The reploid they're describing is a worker model, a light one. You know, the kind that never picked up a weapon in their life."

Then it clicked home for me. "You want me to check it out, see what exactly's going on?"

The Chief jammed his stogie back between his rubbery lips and nodded. "I figure you can handle it, Glacier. Besides, you've been lookin' pretty ragged these last coupla days. This is a nice and easy mission."

I rolled my eyes. "Chief, I don't need a vacation."

He threw his hands up in the air. "Who said anything about a vacation? Did you hear me say vacation? I thought I was giving you a mission here." He narrowed his eyes. "If you want a vacation, why don't you just toss in your badge and gun and get the Hell out? I don't got time for quitters."

"Jesus, cool off." I muttered, adding an extra layer of dry ice to the ceiling with a wave of my hand. The chief really was worried about me, if he was keeping this up. "All right, I'll do it. But I'm telling ya, chief, I feel fine."

The wrinkles in his face softened, and he let out a big old sigh. "Yeah, I know you're fine, kid." He told me. "But the others around here, they say you haven't been playin' nice, that you've been keeping to yourself. Hell, some of the people here have been sayin' you need Psych-eye-actric help, even. So just take this mission for me. It's out there in Arizona. You can finish it up, take your time with it, spend a coupla days dicking around afterwards."

"Yeah, and maybe I'll swing up into Las Vegas and go gambling." I muttered. Not like I meant it; Las Vegas has been a ghost town of wires and electricity, ever since some human lunkhead bombed it with biological agents a century ago. The only things that go moving in that mess is leftover robots, and plenty of Maverick reploids, if the stories are true.

"Damnit, Glacier, I'm trying to be fuckin' serious here." Sakfey bellowed. He had a habit of doing that when he got angry; puffed himself up like a bear and yelled until he got his way. Funny thing was, it worked. "Now, can you do this?"

I sighed. So much for discussion…Chief had his mind made up, and my day was set. "Yeah, yeah. I can handle it, chief."

"All right, good." He looked down to his desk and started sifting through his paperwork. "Now get the Hell outta here, I got reports to work on."

* * *

_Rattler's Ridge, Arizona_

Teleporting was part and partial of my job, but it never sat right with me. I know some can manage jumps without a problem, and that some can even control the process enough to de-phase and "Faintwarp" without moving, but that isn't my kick. Knowing all the atoms in my body are getting scrambled and flung across the world…Well, I'll walk, given my chance. But speed was the order of the day, so ten minutes after leaving Captain Sakfey's office and picking up my magpistol and badge, I disappeared from Base 36 and re-formed in the middle of Arizona.

I keyed my transceiver earpiece to report in. "Glacier here. I'm at the coordinates."

_"Base 36; that's confirmed, Glacier. Good hunting."_

I keyed off the comm and sighed, then had a look around. The warp had dropped me in the middle of the town, and the bystanders were watching me. One of them, a local county mountie with a badge that hadn't seen a shine in a year or so, walked up to me with a wary expression on his face. I tended to get that reaction from people, since animal reploids were sometimes unusual to stare at, and were usually the ones who went Maverick the easiest. Me looking like an arctic wolf out in the desert didn't help matters much.

"You the local law enforcement?" I asked casually.

He nodded. "Sheriff Barnesfield. And you?"

"Glacier, Regional Maverick Hunters." I came back. He visibly relaxed, more after I flashed him my badge. "We got a call, saying you had a Maverick problem out here?"

The Sheriff spat in the ground, and he looked plenty angry in a hurry. "Yeah, we do." He muttered. "A worker out in the old quarry mines turned rogue on us…killed a young girl called Marie." Sheriff took his hat off, made a show of shaking his head. "Poor girl was just going to turn 19 in a couple of weeks."

The rest of the townsfolk closed in around us, now that my identity as somebody who wasn't going to wipe them off the face of the earth was confirmed. Barnesfield wasn't overweight like Sakfey was. The sheriff was a man who kept himself in shape, but he had a hard look in his eye, which meant he was a real hardnose when it came to his job. Well, I could deal with that. People accuse me of being an unfeeling jerk, just because I stay focused on the business at hand.

I started walking, and Barnesfield kept close by. Looking for some info on the town's situation, I made some small talk. "So, the quarries, huh? What do you dig out, silver?"

"Energen crystals." The sheriff put his hat back on and spat on the ground again. I finally took notice of the color of his saliva. Brown, which meant he was a tobacco chewer. Scratch one against his intelligence. "They found a vein of the stuff back in 2088. This town did pretty well for itself for a while, but most of it's dried out since then. Nowadays, it's mostly the reploids who mine it, digging out the leftovers."

That was always good news. This was a ghost town, or fast on its way to becoming one, and they'd been fighting it off by hiring cheap labor to take on the riskiest job. It wasn't the best conditions to stave off Maverickism. Nobody's really sure why reploids go Maverick, but I've got a hunch, after all the missions I've gone through, that some part of it's gotta be wrapped up in a choice. When you've got nothing in the world but misery, some people just snap.

Maybe that was the case here, too.

I secured my badge in my chest compartment and pulled out my magpistol. "And this Maverick of yours worked in 'em, huh?"

The Sheriff nodded. "Shore 'nough. He used to be one of the supervisors down there. Came into town a lot."

"So people knew him then?" I asked, taking mental notes as we went along.

"Hell, the whole town knew him." The Sheriff admitted. "But I always had a hunch about him. And now he's gone and done this…"

I paused, and turned to look at the sheriff. Out of the corners of my eyes, I could make out the rest of the townsfolk just watching us. Something in their stares seemed off, though. Sure, they were afraid, because Mavericks make people afraid. But they weren't watching me, I finally figured out. They were watching the sheriff…Waiting.

I cleared my throat and stared into his eyes. "So this Maverick killed off that girl Marie, huh? Any provocation? Reason?"

The sheriff's face scrunched tight for a second, as he thought about what to say. It was the way he did it that made me wonder. The feeling didn't last long, and it vanished when he finally spoke. "No. He just showed up into town like usual, and then killed her. Shot her."

I narrowed my eyes. "This Maverick…you reported him as a worker model?"

"Yep. More administration than heavy labor."

"And he shot her?" I asked, plenty dubious about it.

The Sheriff's steely eyes bored a hole into the back of my head. I'd hit a nerve, all right. "Tell you what, Hunter. You can have a look at Marie's corpse down at the hospital later on, if you don't believe me. He shot her. Any fool can pop off a gun, after all…and even if he was a human model reploid, he still went Maverick."

Plenty of things about this whole scene didn't add up. The sheriff was cool as a cucumber, the rest of Rattler's Ridge seemed content to just shut up and watch…It almost seemed kind of rehearsed.

I nodded, and looked to the sheriff. "All right, I'll have to take you up on that offer. For now, though, where can I find this Maverick?"

The sheriff harrumphed, and pointed off down to the south end of town. One building stood out among the squat houses and businesses…an old warehouse. "He's holed himself up in the old Energen depository. I've got my boys ready to move in, but I thought it might be better if we let a professional handle this."

I nodded, and scratched at my snout. "Yeah. I'll take care of it." I looked at the sheriff one last time, and started my walk. I didn't know what I'd find, but I'd be damned if some punk Maverick took me out in the middle of nowhere.

* * *

Barnesfield was right about having his boys ready to move in. He had three squad cars positioned around the old warehouse, and the deputies all had their weapons trained at doors and windows. None of them seemed to be taking chances. They weren't using magweaponry, but if their Maverick was just an administrative worker drone, the added velocity a magnetic accelerator offered wasn't needed to make their deer slugs hit. If they'd shot that against me, though, it would have just bounced off.

I wasn't about to let them take their chances on the assumption that the Maverick wasn't properly defended. When the Sheriff and I walked into the perimeter, the deputies looked up for guidance.

I hefted my magpistol and nodded to Barnesfield. The old fighter cleared his throat, and then motioned to his men to back off. "Ease off, boys. We're gonna let a gen-yoo-ine Maverick Hunter take care o' our little problem."

Not seeing a reason to say much else to that, I sighed and headed for the door of the warehouse. A jiggle of the handle told me what I'd figured; locked up tight. The Maverick had sealed himself in.

I looked back to the sheriff, a thought causing me some concern. "Say, Sheriff, are there any Energen stores being kept in there right now?"

The sheriff blinked. "Why do you ask?"

I winced. Could he really not know? I didn't think stupid extended that far down. "Listen, if your Maverick has any brains in his head, working with Energen as long as he probably has, he's figured out how to convert it to work like a bomb. I don't need an explosion ruining my day here. So tell me. Do you have any Energen in there or not?"

Barnesfield finally shook his head. "Nope, all clean. We just sent out the last shipment yesterday."

I pulled the slide back on my magpistol to prime the launch capacitor and held my hand down next to the warehouse door's lock. I just hoped the sheriff was right.

"All of you, stay back." I ordered. "If you don't hear from me in five minutes, you call Base 36, got it?"

The Sheriff nodded, and I set to work. A quick blast of liquid nitrogen froze the lock solid; a decent kick shattered it and set the door swinging wide open.

I marched in, my gun trained in the shooter's double grip position. The interior was quiet, but I expected that. His best chance to get a drop on me would be when I let my guard down, and I hadn't lived this long playing a sucker's game. My eyes scanned over all the likely positions: The corners, behind empty shipping crates, up on the second floor in case he still had a weapon and meant to snipe me. None of 'em panned out, though…Because he wasn't in any of those places.

Against all logic, the Maverick was sitting in the middle of the empty Energen depository on an old metal crate with his head in his hands.

I stared at him long and hard, sort of surprised. He had the usual reploid boots, which came part and partial to the assembly line, but he didn't have on any armor. Outside of his endoskeletal chassis, he just had on miner's coveralls and synthskin. Bright green hair, too. A personal touch, maybe, but the report had been right. This was a worker reploid…and a highly humanized humanoid model. Hell, most humanoid reploids at least had minimal body armor. This kid didn't have any. He almost fooled my sensors into thinking he was human for a bit, before a quick thermal scan turned up distinctly non-human temperature readings.

I walked up on him slow, and kept my gun trained. Sure, he looked harmless, but so does a bomb before it goes off. He could snap at any moment and come at me. Even though I kept my guard up, he didn't seem to notice me at all. He just sat there, head in his hands…

Crying, I finally realized when I got close enough to hear the sobs. Well, somehow it didn't seem right to put one in his control chip without staring him in the eyes. I'm funny that way; The others at Base 36 say it's got something to do with a code of honor, but I just never was able to pop a Maverick without letting him know I was there to end his life. This one, especially, was so pathetic, I figured I'd best read him the riot act first to soothe my conscience.

"Freeze, Maverick." I snapped. The nearly silent sobs cut out, and he looked up to me through tear-stained blue eyes. Oh, great. He had a baby face. When it rains, it pours.

He sniffled for a bit, and I got nothing from his eyes besides despair. There was no rage, no anger, no fear. That disturbed me. I'm used to seeing rage out of Mavericks, and fear once they realize they're going to die.

He took one look at the gun in my hand, a closer one at me, and then shrugged. "I'm not going anywhere." He said, accepting his fate. Now that really egged at me. Mavericks didn't curl up and die. They fought like animals, to the bitter end. He let out a strange garbled laugh mixed with a sob. "She's dead."

"Because you killed her." I replied, figuring he meant that girl Marie I'd be reading about in the obits tomorrow.

A flash of anger finally came to his face, and he let out a snarl. "Never!" I blinked in surprise, but kept my gun steady and level. He calmed down after that, looking hollower than before. "I could…never…Not Marie. I didn't. They did."

This whole situation just wasn't sitting right with me now. A town not acting the way one usually does after a Maverick attack, and a Maverick who would probably kill himself if he had a razor sharp enough to slash his wrists with?

The Maverick looked back down to the floor, and for a brief moment, I thought I felt something for him. Sympathy, maybe…but for what reason, I didn't know.

"It...doesn't matter anymore. Nobody would believe me. Nobody...would believe a reploid's word. So kill me. I'm a Maverick, after all...and that's why you're here. To hunt a Maverick."

I lifted a hand up away from my magpistol, and the tiny micro-generators in my fingers began to create a supercooled blast of condensed nitrogen frost that would turn him into a frozen corpse on contact. "Kill me." He begged. "There's nothing for me here...but maybe I'll find her in the next world."

**Mavericks deserve no explanation. **Far be it from me to not perform my duties. The action was clear. He had admitted he was Maverick, and a girl was dead because of him. It didn't take long at all. A second, maybe a second and a half of a full blast exposure coated him from head to toe in ice. His overloaded systems began to power down, and I raised my gun up and pointed it at his temple. The last step of taking out a Maverick…destroying his control chip, so he can never come back.

One single bullet shattered his mind and body into a collapsing array of frozen metal flakes. Another Maverick dead. Just another unnamed Maverick.

I left the building, and Barnesfield and his men swarmed me, slapping my shoulders, hooting like I'd run a touchdown, praising me. I'm not above a little praise here and there, but somehow this time it didn't sit right. Hearing that you've saved a town from a dangerous Maverick just doesn't carry the same weight when the Maverick was blubbering like a basket case and didn't put up a fight. His words stuck with me the most, afterwards, and I ignored the droning voices of the rest.

Something about this town didn't add up, and after I'd been escorted to the middle of town to suffer more meaningless praise, I came to a decision.

"Hang on a second." I announced to those around me. They fell silent as I hit my communicator. "Base 36, this is Glacier, you copy?"

_"Glacier, Base 36. State your condition, over."_

"The Maverick's been neutralized. I'm going to spend some time around here, though."

The operator laughed. _"Yeah, we heard Sakfey told you it was an extended mission or the door. You take care of yourself, Glay. We'll be here when you get back."_

I clicked the comm off, and noticed that the sheriff was giving me an odd look. "You're staying?" He asked. "But…why? You took care of the Maverick for us."

I shrugged. "Standard procedure, sir. It goes with the paperwork. I have to try and figure out why he went rogue." It was what I planned on doing, but it definitely wasn't standard procedure. I was glad that my communicator could only be heard by me, since the last thing I needed was the sheriff second-guessing me. "So I'll be around for a while, collecting eyewitness accounts, that sort of thing." I ran my eyes over the crowd. "Can I assume that you'll all be willing to help me compile the data for my mission report?"

The townspeople all blinked and stared at each other unsurely, and the sheriff finally cleared his throat, sweeping off his hat to rub at his short-trimmed hair. A military cut, I noticed.

"Of course, Hunter. Whatever you need, you'll get from us." The sheriff reassured me. I watched him look around with a stern gaze at the others. "Isn't that right, folks?"

Hesitant mumbles of agreement echoed out, and the sheriff looked back to me with a smile. "Shouldn't take you too long." He added.

"What's the hurry?" I asked jokingly…even though I meant it seriously. "Trying to get rid of me?"

The sheriff blinked, and offered an uneasy return smile. "Naw, that's not it." He fumbled. "I just…Well, I…I figure you got better things to be doing than hanging around old Rattler's Ridge."

I recall smirking then, and staring around at this tiny little outpost in the desert. "Well, I don't know." I drawled. "This place is starting to grow on me. Hey, mind if I head down to the hospital to examine that girl's corpse?"

The sheriff blinked, then nodded when he remembered his earlier promise. "Yep, I think we can do that."

* * *

The hospital had a good hospital stink; that mix of baby powder and industrial grade bleach cleaner that just soaks into everything. Coming out of the heat of the day, the air conditioning hit me like a wave of new life. I may be a reploid, but even reploids can pick up on temperature…and I'm still more used to a colder climate.

Sheriff Barnesfield walked me through the corridors toward a part of the building that hung off to the side. "We keep the morgue mostly out of view. People get enough morbidity in the news."

I grunted noncommittally and kept walking. My response obviously wasn't the one he wanted, because he kept talking. "Marie was a good girl. Damn shame what happened."

"Death happens." I replied, having heard the same sob story from better and more straightforward people than this cop plenty of times before. "It's how you deal with it that matters."

We walked through a set of swinging double doors and found ourselves in a dimly lit room with a few gurneys and two examining tables. There wasn't much of a cooler, by the looks of it; enough to store two, maybe three corpses, but that was it. Only one body was in the morgue, and the mortician on call seemed surprised to see anybody visiting. He was at his desk, playing solitaire on his computer. That program's more than a century old, and people still dick around at the office with it.

The fellow came up to his feet quick, shutting his screen down and looking nervously between the two of us. He started fiddling with his glasses. "Uhh, Sheriff? What are you doing down here? And who's this other fellow?"

The sheriff nodded. "This is Glacier, from the Maverick Hunters. He took out Marie's killer just now. Glacier, this here's Doc Severensen. Doc, Glacier came down to once-over Marie."

"Miss Portland?" Dr. Severensen glanced over to the body momentarily, and then up at me. "Why?"

"Standard procedure, sir." I came back, doing my best to sound as monotone as possible. "You know how bureaucracies are. The Hunter organization is under the control of the GDC, and they are awful Goddamn picky about having things in triplicate. I just need to confirm the cause of death."

The mortician adjusted his glasses, and then shrugged. "Well, all right. You're welcome to take a peek, but there's not much to see." He looked over to the sheriff. "Need anything else, Walt?"

Sheriff Barnesfield let out a snort and shook his head. "Well, I figured I'd stick around for a while. I got nothing better going on."

I didn't look back to the sheriff, but underneath that even tone of his, I caught the shift. He meant to keep an eye on me for some reason…did he not trust me instinctively, or was there something going on he didn't want me to find out?

The radio on his shoulder crackled to life. _"Sheriff, we've got a report of a car wreck five miles outside of town. Looks like those damn Flaherty boys got into the hooch and went for a joyride."_

The Sheriff let out an exhausted groan. "Goddamn kids." He muttered. "I'd be too lucky if they finally died this time." He hit his radio. "Damnit, Johnson, didn't you confiscate their driver's licenses after that last OWI?"

_"We did, sir."_

"Well, then that's another charge you can tack on to their list! Operating without a valid license!"

_"Sir, we could really use you down here!"_

The Sheriff, looking plenty irritated, shot a glance at me, Marie's body, and the mortician, in that order. He hit his radio. "Damnit, can't you manage without me? What do I pay you for?"

_"Sir, I'd really feel better if you were here!"_

The Sheriff groaned. "Fine. FINE. I'm on my way. Keep your damn shirt on." He glanced over at me, and rolled his eyes. "Don't stick around in here too long. I figure Doc's gone crazy, sniffing all the Formaldehyde."

I thought about reminding him that reploids couldn't be poisoned by smelling formaldehyde, but thought better of it. I'd gotten the message loud and clear, and didn't want to press him into becoming more paranoid than he was. He didn't want me here, and he really didn't like the idea of leaving me here unsupervised.

Right then and there, I decided that the sheriff was hiding the truth from me, and if I wanted real answers, I was going to have to do my investigating off his radar. I didn't think of myself as the sneaky type, but there was always a time to learn.

I nodded to Sheriff Barnesfield and watched him leave, then looked back to Doc Severensen. "All right, let's see the body."

He nodded, unfazed by the Sheriff's antics, and looking a bit flighty to begin with. I got the impression he didn't get out of the office much. "Right this way." He answered, and walked me to the body.

"You called her Miss Portland earlier?" I asked, to start off the grisly conversation. He threw the sheet covering her body back and grunted.

"Yeah. Miss Marie Portland. Her father owns the mining operation outside of town."

That hit a lightbulb for me. That Maverick had worked in the Energen mines. I gave her body the once-over. A couple of bullet holes through her chest. Decent rack, long brown hair, pretty little thing for a human. Too bad she was dead. I didn't want to meet the guy who'd still go for her now.

"A terrible shame." The mortician sighed. "Took two rounds. One through the heart, the other through a lung. Died quick, thankfully."

I nodded, and examined the bullet wounds. Zoomed in on it. Entry wounds indicated…

".45 caliber?" I asked. The mortician blinked, then nodded with a soft laugh.

"Why, that's right! I haven't even pulled them out yet. Did you figure that out just by looking at her?"

"Looking at the holes in her." I clarified. Measuring mentally was one of those little skills I'd gotten pretty decent at in my job. Knowing the range between me and the Maverick with a beam saber in his hand was sometimes the difference between living and dying.

Then something else hit me as I was poking my finger into the wound above her heart. The blood on her had dried. Gone cold and dull, dull red. I blinked, checked my internal chronometer. It was still only 9:52 A.M. Mountain Time.

I'm not one of those criminal biologists who can tell you what size condom a perp wore in real life, but after as many months on the force as I've spent hunting Mavericks and sizing up their carnage, I've learned a trick here or there. One trick I'd learned for sure was estimating time of death on corpses.

Captain Sakfey had called me into his office barely an hour ago. Since then, I'd warped here, done in the Maverick, and walked with the Sheriff to the hospital. Sakfey had told me that the call had been made in the morning, but even if they'd called in at four or five A.M, that still didn't add up.

I set my hand over the bullet hole between her breasts, and used my hand's sensors to get a reading. A dead body loses heat gradually before going to room temperature. Process takes a while.

Marie Portland wasn't as warm as she should have been, if she'd just died a couple of hours before.

Dr. Severensen coughed loudly, and I looked over to him and pulled my hand back. "Something wrong?" I asked, grateful I could mask my inner turmoil with an icy mask.

The mortician just frowned at me. "Is it apropos for a Hunter to go molesting a dead body?"

"Not molesting her, Doc. Just taking a reading." I replied. I made it a point to stare over at the clock on the wall. "What was the official time of death?"

He blinked a few times, then moved down to her legs and checked the toe tag he'd tied around her foot. "Time of death was 7:58 A.M. this morning. Why do you ask?"

The man seemed clueless as to the nature of his own profession. That was another notch in my general meter of unease. There was something going on here, and I wasn't getting the whole picture. And that pissed me off.

I cracked my knuckles and nodded to him. "Just getting the facts for my report." A thought clicked in my head, and I acted on it. "Do you happen to have her clothes, personal effects?"

"Well, yes, but why would you need to see those?" The mortician asked. "We usually only release those to family members."

"Motive, Doc." My voice was ice cold. "I've got to figure out why your Maverick wanted to kill her. Maybe there's something she had on her that can help me figure it out."

He hesitated. "Well, I don't know…I'm not sure if that's entirely legal…"

I shrugged. "Tell you what. How about I call up the GDC, and they can send down a few of their military investigators. I could use the help, and they're pretty well versed in international government policy when it comes to murders."

It was an idle threat, but he didn't know it. Bastard fell for it like a fish on peanut butter. Doc Severensen went as white as a sheet, and nodded. "N…No, no, that's not necessary. Here, let me just go get her things for you." It was a good thing he turned and scurried off into a side room. It gave me time to grin and then hide it before he came back.

He dumped a plastic bin on the other operating table and waved his hand over it. "You're welcome to look, but don't take anything. Her folks will be coming by later today to get her things."

I nodded and waved him off, and the mortician headed back to his machine. I just sifted through things lightly for a while, watching him out of the corner of my eye. The waiting gave me a chance to make out what Marie had kept on her; pink colored wallet, keys, mobile communications device. All pretty basic. Eventually, Doc Severensen got tired of fiddling with reports, and opened up his solitaire program again. Jackpot for me. Gotta love the human mind for that. As soon as he was thirty mouse clicks in, I had a closer look.

A quick run-through of her mobile device turned up numbers for her family members, her house, and a few people…Diane, Tim, Gregory, Laura…I figured were schoolmates. I logged the numbers into my comm for future reference anyhow, and downloaded her text logs for good measure. I put it back in the bin, just before Doc Severensen looked over to check on me. He didn't see anything out of the ordinary, outside of me peeking at her phone very casually and then putting it aside. I decided not to risk a second glance at it.

There was nothing special about her keys. Car key, house key, a few smaller ones for other devices, probably. I didn't expect to find much in her wallet, outside of the obvious stuff. A money transfer card with a few credits on it, license, old school ID, and some business cards.

I was just about to put the wallet back and treat her stuff as a dead end when my finger ran over a crease in the synthetic leather. I thought it had been a crease…turned out to be a small pocket that had been cut in the inside of it. Carefully, using the thin ends of my claws, I removed a folded slip of paper that had been kept inside. Looked glossy. I unfolded it slowly, making sure to keep my massive paw held up along with the wallet to hide it.

It was a dinky little photo, the same size as her fund transfer card. The kind they sold you in carnival booths. Marie Portland was in that shot, smiling wide, and her hands formed a pair of rabbit ears over the other occupant of that fated photo booth. Her being in the photo didn't surprise me.

Seeing the face of the green-haired Maverick I'd dusted not twenty minutes before, though, smiling broadly beside her and looking all the world like her dearest friend…

That hit me like a Landchaser in dash mode. I looked up again, saw the mortician looking over at me. He wasn't too pleased, and I figured I'd worn out my welcome.

"Find what you need?" He asked.

I shook my head and brought my other hand up, making exaggerated motions of closing her wallet, holding it up between thumb and forefinger, and then putting it back into the bin. "No. I didn't find anything linking the Maverick to her." I replied, lying outright for the first time since I'd shown up. They say robots can't lie. I thank Christ reploids are the exception to that rule. My sleight of hand worked. He watched me drop her wallet back with her other stuff. He didn't see me palm the hidden photo, or fold it up before freezing it between my pinky and ring finger.

I pushed the bin away from myself and nodded respectfully to the doctor. "Thanks, anyhow." He grunted and waved me off, then went back to his game. Nice to know he was one of those motivated people.

I left the hospital with more questions than answers. I knew one thing, though…I had to keep my investigation quiet for the moment. As far as Rattler's Ridge was concerned, I was just tying up loose ends before heading out. Once outside, I slipped the picture of Marie Portland and the Maverick into my chest compartment, faking a look at my badge to hide my action. Shit. I'd taken this job on the Chief's orders, to try and get some relaxation in me. Instead, I was ending up more on edge and paranoid than when I came in.

* * *

A quick look around guided me towards one of the village's local dives. A real hole in the wall diner, the place that has character and where you don't ask if they washed their hands before cooking your burger. Stepping inside, I heard all the conversation and chatter cut out. Naturally. I was the center of attention in Rattler's Ridge today. Of course they'd be watching. Even though I wasn't the sort who needed clothing, all of those stares left me feeling kind of naked. Maybe when I got back to Colorado, I'd spend some of my cash on a coat or something.

My time in the morgue had rattled me enough I was still shaking inside my head. Outside, I was the icy hound everybody expected. I needed something to calm me down, so I headed to the counter and leaned in between two older gents who were working their way through waffles and eggs.

The waitress came over to me with a pad and pencil. "What'll it be, hon?"

"Coffee. Black as sin, if you've got it." I answered smoothly. She went to the back counter for a second, then came back with a ceramic mug and a pot still plenty fresh. It poured out, slow and thick, and if I had an actual stomach at the bottom of my throat instead of a port to my microfusion generator, it probably would have screamed at the sight. This wasn't coffee, it was caffeinated sludge.

"Here you are, sweetheart." She finished pouring and pushed the mug towards me.

"Thanks, mom." I replied, picking it up and draining half the glass without blinking. It was a psychological thing, drinking coffee, but the little things help out here and there.

She was a ripe old gal in her mid-forties. Her red hair was more frizz than form, and the crow's feet were pretty deep, but she had a lot of spunk. Something I've found since 2118 was that most waitresses that old have spirit to burn. According to her nametag, which I read by glancing over the rim of my coffee mug, she went by Rosa.

Rosa set a hand to her waist and stared at me. "You're that Maverick Hunter, aincha? The one that took out that Maverick earlier?"

I set the mug down and wiped a dribble from my snout. "So they tell me." I replied, flashing her my metallic canines. Something about my teeth helps to measure people. The ones who aren't scared are the ones I like. Rosa just smirked at my show of bravado. I liked her. "It's not bad java, Rosa. Make it yourself?"

"Most people can't drink it that strong. I guess it's wasted on you."

I shook my head. "Oh, I can taste it. It just doesn't make me fat."

The café broke into some light chortles from the joke, and Rosa beamed from ear to ear. "Ain't that a trick? I tell you, some days I wish I could do that."

"What, you?" I countered, buttering her up some more. "You're looking pretty good, I think. How old are you? Thirty? Thirty-two?"

One of the men farther down the lunch counter laughed, nearly spitting up his pancakes. "Ain't that a laugh!"

Rosa gave him a sharp stare that would have incinerated a chunk of TitaniTefloAlloy. "I don't think you've got much room to talk, Herb." She walked over to him and flicked a finger at the top of his head, and his hair went flying to the ground. "At least I don't need to go wearin' a toupee."

The room busted out laughing again, and I drank some more coffee to hide my smile. Rosa took her sweet time coming back to me, but had another question. Her directness might be hiding her true feelings, but it was still refreshing in Rattler's Ridge. "So, they say you're sticking in town for a while…working on a report?"

I set the coffee mug down and motioned for a refill. While she was busy pouring, I gave her her answer. "That's right. I'm trying to figure out the motive this Maverick had for killing Miss Marie Portland."

"Motive?" One of the patrons down in a booth at the far end of the diner exhorted. "He was a stinkin' Maverick, he didn't need no motive! She was there, and he shot her!"

I turned and looked at the man. "You were there when it happened, then?"

My abrupt shift of focus caught him off his guard and silenced the hecklers in the diner. I was putting off a very cold vibe, and it had shut 'em down. The man turned a few shades paler, stammered a bit, then finally shook his head to clear it. "No, I wasn't…but that's what I heard, anyway."

"Well, when we start writing reports based on hearsay instead of eyewitness accounts, I'll know who to come to." I replied smoothly. The fellow looked away, chastened, and fell silent.

I sat down on the empty barstool between the two men I was squeezed between and faced outwards. Spread my arms out on the counter behind me and made a slow, lazy turn around the inside. "There's one piece of information that the sheriff hasn't provided me with yet that I'll need before I get any deeper." I started, readying myself to spread another little white lie. Investigative work sometimes takes a little creative questioning. "The Hunters still don't know what causes some reploids to go Maverick. We've been collecting names and registration numbers of our targets whenever possible, to see if there's some kind of an origin source to them. Any of you happen to know what this Maverick's call sign was?"

The diners blinked. A few looked away. A few more looked ready to speak, but thought better of it and shut themselves up.

The guy on my left cleared his throat to get my attention, and I looked over at him. The man seemed plenty beat up by life, but he obviously wasn't afraid of whatever else everyone else was. "Well, I don't know his registration number…but back before he turned Mav, he called himself Gregory."

_Gregory._ That name drove another nail into my head. Gregory had been one of the names on Marie Portland's mobile device. Add that to the picture of them I found in her belongings…This was looking really strange. Gregory had been insistent he hadn't killed her, that 'they' had…And this town seemed all too desperate to leave the whole incident behind them. Hell, maybe Gregory really had snapped. Emotions were sometimes difficult for reploids to handle, after all. Could he have had a mind split?

**Mavericks deserve no sympathy. **I could feel myself breaking that rule, but somehow…somehow, this one time, I figured I could let it slide.

A mind split could happen. She was the boss's daughter. He was a reploid employee who worked for her father. Maybe they had been friends, and he just split. Part of him liked her, but another part struck out at her. To get back at her father?

That would mean I'd have to get out to the mines. Make an impromptu visit with the other worker reploids there. They'd be able to give me an honest interpretation of conditions. If things were bad, it wouldn't be the first time that a Maverick went postal at his job. Matter of fact, I recalled an old story that Sigma'd picked up Boomer Kuwanger at the New Tokyo Mail Distributing Center…Old Cutterhead had almost singlehandedly stopped a Maverick riot.

A hand touched my shoulder, and I snapped out of my reverie. Rosa was staring at me, confused. "Something wrong, hon? You blanked out there for a second."

"Oh." I mumbled, realizing too late that I might have betrayed my thoughts by dwelling on them. I shook it off and turned back around to the counter, taking another sip of coffee. Used the time to think of an excuse. Had to be a good one…

I put the mug back down and shrugged. "I was just thinking, Gregory's sure an odd name for a reploid. It's a human name."

"That punk sure as Hell thought he was human." The fellow on my right muttered, something like wrath burning in his words. "Got his in the end."

I stored that nugget away for later too, and drank my black sludge. At this point, I didn't know what to think about the Maverick named Gregory. What I needed was a few hundred second opinions.

* * *

It took a lot of finagling and talking Captain Sakfey's ear off before the old bastard finally caved in and warped me a Landchaser. I'm not a fan of teleporting, but riding around on a crotch rocket repulsorbike like the Landchaser might almost be compared to a religious experience. Out here in the Arizona desert, especially, there was nothing but open land between me and wherever I wanted to go. I figured the best place to start a search on this Gregory would be with the place where he used to work. The drive out, which didn't take long at all, still gave me the time to do some serious thinking without having to worry about what the town thought of me.

Gregory'd just been another Maverick. Sure, there were a lot of details about the case that were fuzzy, and sure, I was getting a pretty offbeat vibe from Rattler's Ridge, but it wasn't my business. I was just a regional Maverick Hunter. I came here, I took out the Maverick. That should have been it. The Chief had wanted me to relax, and the more I thought about it, the more appealing the notion sounded. It would have been easy to just turn the bike southwest and head for Baja, where the sand was warm and the parties were smoking.

That pleasant dream got blasted to Hell the moment I recalled Gregory's face before I killed him.

The kid had wanted to die. He'd had nothing left. Nothing to live for. Nothing to even fight for.

That was the trick. Mavericks always had something to fight for; themselves. I'd never met a Maverick who laid their own head on the chopping block. Maybe he really had been a Maverick, and my gut instinct, which was twisting my insides into knots, was all wrong. But even if that was the case, something nagged at me, with a none too subtle scream that I owed Gregory somehow…And the least I could do was get the whole story.

Hell. I gunned the engine harder and leaned into the wind. Maybe I wasn't doing this for Greg's sake at all. Maybe my conscience had finally been rattled hard enough that I really was in danger of a nervous breakdown. It might be, I thought, that I was doing this for my own sake all along.

* * *

In my youth, I'd been made to work for a company up in the northern stretches of Canada that mined Energen crystals. Energen was one of those miracle substances; it carried a natural charge of its own, but with the right processing, the lattices could store additional power from other sources. Earth had a pretty strong craving for the stuff, and I'd been in this boat once myself. If it hadn't had been for the GDC establishing more regional Maverick Hunter bases to ease the strain, I would have probably still been flogging my circuits out dragging the power mineral out of the ground up there in the frozen tundra.

I parked my Landchaser next to the entrance to the mines, and made it a point to avoid the administrative building. The Sheriff had told the town to cooperate with me. He probably hadn't meant it in those exact words, but I figured I could claim an innocent _carte blanche_ if the suits got huffy about me poking around. I made a mental note to come back out and check their records later on, but for right now, I was looking more specifically for intel on Gregory's mindset and personality. Those aren't the kinds of things you can get by reading someone's permanent records.

Inside the tunnels, I felt an old and nearly forgotten life start to come back to me. The mining operation here was smaller than the one I'd been a part of, but too much of it was still the same. Chunks of ore still got torn out of the walls, dumped in carts and rolled off to a conveyer, where it then got tracked off to machines that sorted through the rubble and knocked debris away from the precious Energen. The darkness of it, and the hollow ringing sounds…

I had to shake myself to break free of it. I found that my hands were shaking. Guess I'd hated the miner's life more than I remembered. Baja was seriously tickling my fancy. I held it off, though. I still had a job to do, even if it was just for a ghost.

I made my way to the back of the mines, in the newest tunnels. Here, the other reploids were keeping an even pace, and chatting with each other freely. Given their vocabulary, they'd been shortchanged on the basic communications and etiquette programming.

"So I says to Vern, I says," A portly gorilla reploid in orange armor remarked to the rest of his team, "Ya might as well go home and rent that new Dick Drake flick, because that's the most action you're gonna see tonight, buddy!"

The crude remark won guffaws from his fellows, and I took the moment to walk in and make my appearance. I guess I'd sneaked in more quietly than I realized, because the ones on the outside edge let out a startled noise and jumped away from me.

The massive simian reploid blinked and turned to look at me. He hefted his pickaxe over his shoulder and snorted. "Well, looky what we got here, boys. A little wolf, who got lost in the wrong tunnel." His posse laughed again, but with slightly less gusto. I could turn on the charm when I wanted, and I could take it away just as easily.

I opened my chest compartment, reached inside, and dragged out my badge. "The name's Glacier. Maverick Hunter, Base 36."

"Fuckin' Hell, a Maverick Hunter?" The simian shouted, all bravado lost. He looked fearfully at me. "Listen, mac, I don't want no trouble. I does what they tell me, all right? I don't know what they've been tellin yas, but anything I say around here, it's just harmless banter, right fellas?" He won himself a few halfhearted nods of agreement, but little else. Something else I was used to. Bring a Maverick Hunter into a situation with a bunch of uneducated reploids, their first reaction is that one of them's under suspicion of being Maverick. I hate that idea. We're not secret police. We're law enforcement, trying to keep the world from going to Hell.

"Relax, Tarzan." I answered him, putting the badge back away. I touched the picture briefly, just long enough to make sure it was still there. "I'm not here on account of you. I just came in to ask you boys some questions. What's your name, for starters?"

The gorilla reploid looked immensely relieved, and smiled. "Well, they call me Digger."

I couldn't help the smile that time. They called me Glacier, and they called him Digger. Humans sure aren't too imaginative some days. "All right, Digger, it's good to meet you. You been in town yet today?"

"Has I been in town today, he asks me." Digger snorted, turning back to the wall and readying his pickaxe again. "Hey boys, any of youses been into Rattler's Ridge lately?"

"Hell, no!" Came the near unanimous response.

Digger rubbed a hand on his chest. "Naw, they keep us pretty busy up here. Round the clock and all that. There ain't that much Energen to be had, but the owner, he keeps sayin there's a vein hasn't been discovered yet, soes he keeps us diggin. Sixteen hour shifts most days, with eight to crash. And a day off? Last one I had was…Hell, a month ago? Walked into town, had myself a ham sammitch just to see what all the hubbub was about. Didn't taste too bad, but didn't see the point in goin' back again."

"Why not?" I asked, tapping my claws on my elbow.

Digger looked at me solemnly. "The people in Rattler's Ridge…I get the feeling they don't like our kind all that much, ya know? It's the way they look at ya, kind of like a mix between you're not even there, and they don't want ya there."

"That's not all that uncommon." I pointed out. "I've seen a lot of places, towns, cities bigger than Rattler's Ridge where the sentiment's the same. Mavericks make life Hell for our kind. That's why I'm here, actually. A Maverick killed a girl in town."

Digger blinked. "Ya shittin' me? A Maverick? Here in Rattler's Ridge? Aw, that's bullshit."

"He worked here." I added calmly, looking over the assembled mining team for any unusual reaction. "His name was Gregory."

What I got was a bunch of blank stares, and then uneasy laughter. Digger shook his head. "Gregory? Friggin Greenie Greg? That doesn't seem right. Who did he kill, supposedly?"

"A young woman. Marie Portland, the owner's daughter?"

Now they frowned at me. I'd hit a nerve. Digger pursed his lips together, looking like he was trying to decide whether to hit me or just walk away. "Nah. Nah, there's no way. No fuckin' way, ya hear? He wouldn't kill her."

"Why not?" I asked, reading a lot out of his tone.

"Four months ago, we hads a cave in while she and her dad were lookin' around the new digs. If it hadn't been for Greenie Greg, that dumb kid woulda gone belly up for sure. He damn near got himself killed keeping the rubble offa her, held up their little pocket in the rubble until we was able to digs 'em out." The simian snorted at me. "And _thens_, as if that wasn't frigging sank-ti-moan-yus enough, after they patch him up, he stays in the hospital with hers until she's finally well enough to walk out on her own power. We didn't see him as much after that, since Mr. Portland promoted him after that so he'd be in the office more, but Greenie Greg made it a point to come visit us laborin' schmucks every so often and fill us in. Those two were tight, I tell ya. Bestest buddies n' everything. There's no FREAKIN' WAY that he'd go Maverick and kill her."

The story was news to me. Nobody in the town had breathed a word of it. Of course, who was I willing to believe more? Hundreds of people, or a few mentally regressed reploids slogging their guts out in an Energen mine?

It was a start, though. Doors were opening. I just had to keep following the trail.

I gave Digger a respectful nod. "I didn't know all that. Thanks for telling me."

Digger's eyes softened. "You really mean to tell me that Marie's dead?"

"I examined her body in the morgue earlier this morning."

"Shit." Digger muttered, rubbing the top of his head with a dusty hand. "And Greg?"

"…Deactivated." I finally said, and somehow it hurt to say it like that. Unwilling to look at any of them any longer, and wondering if I had cause to feel guilty, I turned and walked out.

"And you killed him, then?" Digger called out after me, rage coming back into his voice. "You came in here from God knows where, and youse blowed his head off like he was some stinking Sigma flunkie?! Yeah, you'd _better_ run, you sorry sonofa…"

I turned the corner and deactivated my auditory sensors.

Didn't feel like hearing the rest.

* * *

There was a jeep from the administrative building pulled up beside my Landchaser when I came out. A couple of people were poking it over suspiciously. There's only a few things I absolutely can't stand, and somebody messing with my wheels is one of them.

Keeping to a casual pace, I marched over to them. They noticed me when I was twenty-five feet out and turned to watch me. They had that hint of suspicion in their eyes.

"Something I can do for you two?" I asked, walking through them and to my bike. A once-over told me that hadn't messed with anything. That was good for them.

One of them had on a shirt and tie; the other one was gussied up all the way in a suit. The suit looked familiar somehow, but I couldn't place it.

The other fella frowned at me. "Who are you? You don't have permission to go sneaking into our mining operation."

"Actually, I do." I replied, climbing onto my Landchaser. "Glacier, Maverick Hunters. I'm running my investigation on the Maverick I deactivated earlier this morning." I stared back at them. "And you two are?"

The mention of my profession caught them off guard, but didn't cow them into complacency. Oh well. It had just been a matter of time before I would've stumbled across some tough cookies in this town. Sooner than later didn't bother me.

The suit cleared his throat, and spoke in a gravelly voice like he was dropping the hammer of God. "I am Phillip Portland, the owner of this operation. The fellow to my right is Dustin West, our site manager."

"A pleasure." I replied, giving a brief nod to Mr. Portland. "My condolences on your loss."

"Knowing that the Maverick responsible for her fall is dead gives me some measure of solace." He answered back.

I instantly decided that I didn't like Phil Portland one damn bit.

"So what kind of an investigation would bring you out here to the Energen mines?" Mr. Portland asked me, arching his eyebrow.

"I'm tracking down the Maverick's identity…who he was, where he went, where he came from. It goes with the paperwork."

Mr. Portland snorted. "Paperwork? Hell, I just thought you killed 'em and had done with it."

"That would make things easier." I nodded, not really agreeing with him. "Unfortunately, us regional boys get to do our own bookwork. We're a little more short-staffed than the MHHQ. I was hoping you'd let me take a look at your employment records for a while."

He hesitated, and I threw in the punchline I'd been saving. "The sheriff did ask the townsfolk to cooperate."

"I'll bet he did." Mr. Portland replied, gritting his teeth. "All right, you can follow us back to the offices. But in the future, if you want to come out, be sure to check in with us first. Those mines aren't entirely safe, and we have to make sure there aren't any accidents."

The story that Digger had passed along flashed up in my memory. All in all, it made for a rather poor joke. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind." I answered, and started the engine. They headed back to their jeep, and I bided my time. They didn't like me snooping around, but so far, they just saw me as a nosy government agent. I could deal with that.

The truth, that I was a Maverick Hunter trying to justify killing a Maverick…that would have been a harder pill to swallow.

* * *

Mr. Portland had excused himself shortly after we pulled up to the mining offices, and retreated into his own cave. His right hand man stuck with me, though; watched me like a hawk. He'd inundated me in information and files, and was absolutely no help in sorting through them. He offered me a cup of coffee, but given that I'd gone through some of Rosa's earlier that morning, I wasn't in the mood for more. I think he offered out of feigned politeness. Most reploids don't even bother with food or drink, see it as a waste of time. I only mess with it to put people at ease.

It was closing in on 5:00 by the time I finally made it down to the bottom of the fourth and last file cabinet…and hiding away in the back uncovered Gregory's file.

I picked it up and tapped it with my fingers. "Here we are."

"Are you about done?" Mr. West asked me blithely. "It's getting on closing time."

"Oh, shutting down mining operations for the day, are you?" I asked, opening the cover of the file and peering inside. Here was what I was after. "Well, I'll just get out of your hair then."

"Yeah." West replied, eyeing the folder in my hands. "I'll go ahead and sort everything back into place, and you can try looking tomorrow."

I smiled at him. He must have thought I was some new schmuck off the assembly line. I wasn't, though. I was one of the first generation reploids…The "Eighteens", the unofficial name was, since we were activated in 2118. I'd seen plenty of bait and switches in my time, and this was a poor attempt. I tucked the folder in the crook of my arm and shook my head. "No, I got what I came for. I'll just take this with me and get out of your hair."

That finally set the man off. "But…But that's private company files! You can't just walk off with it!"

I raised an eyebrow. "I'm not stealing it. I just have to borrow it long enough to flesh out my report. You understand, of course. I'll bring it back when I'm done."

I didn't wait long enough to interpret his sputtering, stammering reply. I figured he didn't like it one bit, though. I headed out the door, got on my Landchaser, and set a course for Rattler's Ridge. For the moment, I'd go and secure some lodgings, and then get to work looking over Gregory's employee file.

* * *

The town's motel had seen better days, but that was true for all of Rattler's Ridge. I didn't need much…just a quiet place to put my head down and get a few recharge cycles in. I made sure to warp my Landchaser back to base when I checked in, since Sakfey got kind of particular when equipment stayed checked out for too long. I walked into my room, locked the door behind me and drew the curtains. I could stand to miss a sunset tonight.

Gregory's file read like an open book. Reploid Registration number was there. He'd come from a factory out on the west coast, in Sacramento. Standard humanoid build, only they'd foregone the usual armor and gone with the more expensive synthskin alone. That was interesting, but not unheard of. Most reploids, they're just built with armor, and that's all they'll ever get from the day they're activated until they die. A smaller number are built without the sturdier chassis…Those are the more interpersonal models. Rarer, but there's a calling for them, especially for rich men who like to flaunt their wealth and get attractive eye candy without the headaches. A very few reploids are built with both synthskin _and_ armor capabilities, but you almost never see them. Too expensive for most factories and companies to justify building, which means almost all of them are custom models.

Gregory, like me, was an off the rack reploid. Activation Date was December 17th, 2119. He'd been less than a year old. To a human, that seems ludicrous…but for us reploids, if you're older than a year, you're considered venerable. If any of us live long enough to make it into the 2130's, and pass a decade, I'll bring the confetti.

He'd been a mistake, apparently; His factory fouled up in the construction process, ended up making him less durable than the contract specs called for. Still, the factory shipped him out to the company he'd been placed into indentured servitude with…the mining operation outside Rattler's Ridge.

According to the file, he'd been "Hired" as a mine worker at the usual pay grade, which was dick. I was used to hearing the story, but it still burned me. Reploids got built, then got shipped off to places to work for obscenely low amounts of money. 150 years ago, humans called that sort of thing sweatshop labor, or slave labor. The only difference between then and now was, since it was reploids and not humans, they didn't bother passing laws making it illegal. We didn't have much of a budget at Base 36, but being a Maverick Hunter, you at least got an honest day's wages. Must have been the hazard pay.

He'd been given a bad performance review on the 12th of January…Wasn't hauling enough ore quick enough, and was getting too banged up doing it. Well, gee, surprise, guess what happens when a reploid isn't designed for that kind of heavy labor? The performance review had an odd tag, though. Even though he was lousy as a worker bee, Gregory'd been a people person. The others listened to him, and he coordinated tasks well.

Out of that lousy performance review, another note next to his job title had appeared on the 13th…

_Team Coordinator._

"So, you ended up moving in the ranks?" I mused, as if Gregory could say anything back to me.

And there, in the end of January, I found something else. It corroborated the story Digger had told me.

On January 28th, 2120, Gregory had been promoted to Deputy Director of Employee Operations…a fancy title which probably meant they put him in charge of overseeing the other reploids. There was a note attached to it, tucked under a paperclip. I pulled it out and gave it the once-over. _For heroism during the shaft collapse, and loyalty to my family above and beyond the call of duty._

"He was telling the truth." I muttered, and closed the file.

I put the folder aside and went to splash some water in my face. It was a human habit that actually worked pretty well with reploids. I reviewed the facts again.

I'd rubbed out Gregory for being a Maverick. A reploid he'd worked with had told me that the kid had actually saved the life of the girl he was accused of killing. Now, I had evidence that that was true. He had saved her, and he'd been promoted for it. So why would he kill her?

Times like this I really wish I'd taken up smoking. I didn't have a vice, and everybody needed one, supposedly. At least it'd give me something else to do besides staring at myself in the mirror, wondering what rabbit hole I'd just fallen through.

That pondering ended quick when the window to my room shattered. I dove to the ground on instinct, had my gauntlets bared to freeze anything that moved. Outside of a few shards of glass that came slicing through the air, though, nothing was doing. The curtain was flopping around, but seemed weighed down at the bottom.

I made a dash for my door and threw it open, poking my head out just in time to see an old fashioned electric car squeal out of the motel parking lot. I didn't catch a license plate, but it looked like an old beat up sedan…a kid's car. I could have chased after it, but I didn't feel like wasting the dash thruster fuel, and I definitely wasn't willing to risk my life on a hunch. At best, they were hoodlums out raising Hell. At worst…

Well, I didn't want to deal with the worst.

I headed back inside, closed and locked the door behind me, and moved to the window. Down on the floor, keeping the hem of the curtain pinned, a brick with a piece of paper tied around it sat waiting. I tore the paper off the rock and unfolded it.

**Reploids go home!**

"That's an intelligent threat." I muttered, freezing the paper to dust in my hand with a quick blast of LOX. I'd gotten the message, though.

I was starting to make some people in this town nervous. I could live with that. It would make things harder, though…I still needed answers.

There was some connection between Marie Portland and Gregory that I wasn't picking up on. Friends, after all, didn't go killing friends.

I stuffed Greg's file in my chest compartment for safekeeping and headed out. If I was going to find answers this time of night, there was only one woman who could give them to me.

Hopefully, she still had some sludge warmed up. After getting a rock thrown through your window, you don't exactly feel like sacking out.

* * *

Evening hit fast, even for May. A ridge of clouds that wouldn't release a drop of rain had overcast in the west and ended out the sun's influence earlier than expected. I passed a few people in the street, and they all shied clear of me. Things had come full circle in Rattler's Ridge. It was nice to know that this was the kind of cooperation I could look forward to.

The diner was dark when I sauntered up to it, and I saw Rosa fiddling with the door's lock outside. She'd tossed on a light jacket to stave off the chill night air of the desert, but I recognized her by her hair.

"Hey, Rosa. Any chance I can get some of that coffee?" I called out, walking up to her. She looked back at me, surprised for a moment, but slipping into an easygoing smile.

"Not tonight, I'm afraid. I just closed the place up. Come by tomorrow morning bright and early, and I'll brew you some." She came back, as chipper as a chipmunk. I've got to hand it to women like Rosa. An all day shift and she still talks tough as nails and soft as velvet.

I shook my head, and stopped a few feet short of her. "Ah, well. There'll be other days. I actually came by to ask you a few things."

"Well, if you're looking for my cobbler recipe, you're out of luck." Rosa replied, lifting an eyebrow. A real piece of work, she was.

"Cobbler can wait. I was actually hoping you could talk to me about Marie…and Gregory."

She seemed surprised. "Why? Didn't you finish your report yet?"

"No. I learned a lot more, but there are some things that don't add up." Rosa looked at me, and then made a slow arc with her eyes. I followed.

Some people across the street had stopped their conversation and were watching us.

Rosa shook her head. "Come on. I need to get back home. My favorite holodrama's going to be on soon. If you can walk and talk, you can come with me for a bit."

I nodded. Rosa came off casual, but I'd been on enough cases to read the strain. She didn't want to talk about it here.

We were a block down, moseying at an easy pace before she signaled the all clear. "All right, Glacier. Shoot."

"I've dug up evidence that Gregory actually saved Marie's life four months ago."

"Yeah, durin' the shaft collapse." Rosa confirmed.

"He got promoted for it, didn't he?"

"It wasn't much of a promotion, but it got him out of the mines a lot more than he'd been before."

"And he and Marie were close?"

Rosa chuckled. "Two peas in a pod, those kids." I laughed at the term, and she looked up at me. "I say something funny?"

"Sorry." I apologized quickly. "It's just…well, I realize that for a reploid, he was a kid, but it's weird hearing it like that."

She arched an eyebrow. "Probably weirder calling a Maverick by his given name too, I'd think." It was, actually, but I didn't want to admit it. "But yeah. They were close after that. They'd go places, do stuff together. She showed him how to play catch once."

"Like baseball, play catch?"

"Yeah, exactly." Rosa shook her head. "For a while, the townsfolk didn't know what to make of it. They laughed at first, figured she was just being polite to the reploid who saved her life. Of course, when they kept hanging out, the laughing stopped."

"I can see that happening." I answered, recalling the brick through my motel window. "What all did they do that made people unhappy?"

"Oh, she started coming to visit him over her dad's lunch break, they'd go and catch a movie together, or go walking around town cracking jokes."

"Shucks, next you're going to tell me that they painted her house together." I drawled, trying to inject some humor. Rosa just gave me a funny look and shook her head, all disapproving.

"Most people around here are pretty old fashioned, Glacier. Humans can work with reploids, but spending leisure time with them? Pretty unheard of."

"I get the feeling there aren't a lot of people around here who like reploids." I ventured slowly.

Rosa nodded. "Time used to be that the folks around here had plenty of work in the Energen mine. Then it dried up, got to be too dangerous for human workers. Now that we've got a reploid workforce digging new tunnels, the people that got laid off don't exactly find much to celebrate, when the company's getting money still, and the town's still dying out."

The old plight of migrant workers and local workers all over again. The more things change, I told myself…

She cleared her throat. "Did that help, or was there anything else?"

"Just one thing." I asked finally. "If they were such good friends, what would cause him to kill her?"

"He went Maverick." Rosa answered.

"Bullshit. Reploids go Maverick for a reason."

"Oh, really? It doesn't just happen out of the blue?" Rosa replied questioningly. I didn't have a good answer, and she stopped outside an apartment building. "Well, whatever. That's one question I don't have an answer, or gossip to, even. And this is my stop. You take care of yourself, you hear?"

"Right." I nodded. "I'll catch you in the morning, all right?"

She gave me a wave and a wink, and disappeared inside the apartment door. I turned and started to walk down the street…barely made it half a block before a police cruiser turned the corner and pulled up beside me.

I waited as Sheriff Barnesfield leaned out of his car and looked up at me. He tipped his hat, and I nodded in return.

"Still stickin' around in town, I see." He observed.

"Yup. Still working on my report." I shot back. "How was that car wreck earlier today?"

He grimaced at the subject change, but recovered fast. "Aah, just some kids being stupid. One of 'em's got a busted arm, now."

I smiled. "Maybe he'll learn not to do it again next time." I felt like saying something about Darwinian theory and stupid people getting themselves killed to remove inferior genetic stock from the breeding pool…but that kind of talk coming out of a reploid swings awfully close to Maverick dogma, and I was on pins and needles already with the sheriff. I didn't need more trouble.

"I doubt it." The sheriff grumbled. He looked me square in the eye. "Mr. Portland tells me you made a little visit out to his mine this afternoon."

"Since it was where Gregory worked before, I figured it would be the best place to pick up some information."

"Yeah." He lingered, and I wondered if he was going to get on my case for walking in the mine and talking to the other workers. He didn't broach that subject, though. "I also heard that you walked off with the Maverick's permanent record…now, you realize that's company property, don't you?"

I shrugged. "It was necessary for my investigation…tracing information as to his origins, you understand."

"Oh, sure, sure." He leaned out a bit farther, gave me a crocodile smile. "Thing is, Mr. Portland says you left quite a mess in the office, and he'd kind of like to have the file back so he can put things back in order." He held out his hand. "Asked me to get it back from you personally. You _are_ done with it, right?"

I chewed the inside of my jaw, but nodded. "Yeah. I got what I needed from it." I turned around and pulled it out of my chest compartment, then closed the door before he could lean around and catch sight of the photograph I'd taken from Marie's belongings. I slapped the folder in his hand and looked at him grimly. "There."

The sheriff put the folder on the passenger seat and nodded. "It sure was nice and all for you to take care of that Maverick for us, son, but now you're just starting to make people nervous around here. I've got some people asking me if there aren't more Mavericks around here yet."

I shook my head. "Just the one, I'm pretty sure."

"Good." He nodded again. "Good, good. Well, if you could just shuffle off back to…whatever base you came from, as soon as you can, you'd save me a load of headaches from concerned phone calls."

"I'll take it under advisement." I answered, as calm as ever. "I won't stay any longer than I need to."

"Good to hear, son." He yawned and started to lean back inside his car. "Well, I guess I'd best leave you to it, then."

"Oh. Sheriff, before you go, there is one other thing I'd like to ask you…"

He paused and looked back at me. "What'd that be?"

"Earlier tonight, somebody in a beat up old sedan threw a brick through my motel window. Think you could look into that?"

He smiled waspishly. "Aah. Probably just boys being boys, trying to make a name for themselves by scaring the Maverick Hunter. Nothing you need to worry about, I'm sure."

"I'm sure." I replied dryly, and watched him drive off into the night. I didn't expect him to be much help on that last part, but the question gave me an entirely different answer. The sheriff dropped another notch lower on my respect stick.

No, the trail was running cold, and the only way to dig up the missing links would be to talk to the dead. Of course, that was impossible, unless…

Inspiration hit me, and I started walking down the street again. I keyed up my communicator and opened the line. "Base, this is Glacier. Copy?"

_"Glacier, Base 36 here. Something wrong?"_

"Negative. But I need you to look up an address for me…"

* * *

_863 Applewood Lane_

_The Portland Residence_

_9:24 P.M._

It was quiet for the most part inside the house when I showed up unannounced. A look through the window told me all I needed to know. Mr. Portland, the mine owner was sitting at his computer, typing away with a grim expression on his face, and oblivious to anything else. I could hear a stereo playing country music.

I hate country music.

With nothing to see there, I skated around the side of the house and kept myself low, putting the bushes between me and their home. When I'd finally convinced myself that there wasn't anyone on the first floor, I put my claws and boots to work and clambered up the side of the house. It was tough going, since I had to keep quiet, but I managed to make it work.

Of all the places I could have been, the Portland household was probably a dumb spot to be in. I needed answers, though, and that overruled common sense…for the moment.

The second floor seemed like it belonged. This was a family home, the kind that some humans still loved to reminisce fondly about between rounds at the bar and talks about how the world's going to pot. I saw a woman Portland's age…the mother, most likely…crying her eyes out in her bedroom with the lights out. Times like this I was glad for my infrared sensitive optics. A walk around on the roof finally got me to a window of a smaller room with decorations a lot more frilly than the rest of the house.

If it looks like a girl's room and feels like a girl's room…

I dropped myself down from the roof and hung on by one hand, staring at the window. They'd locked it. That would make getting inside hard, especially since I'd set a goal not to be found out. If I had come up to the front door and asked to come in, I would have gotten the cold shoulder. Subterfuge being my only route, I found myself wondering whether or not it was worth the trouble to try and cut through the glass. My claws were sharp enough, I was sure…but that'd mean leaving a hole I didn't want there. Sure, I could have iced it over perfectly, but this was Arizona. Ice melts after a while, and the hole would still be there.

I felt a lump in my throat drop down to the pit of my microfusion reactor when the answer hit me. There are days that I learn to hate my intuition.

The easiest way in, of course, was to warp. As much as I hated it. I shut my eyes, and concentrated on it. It would be a short hop. I'd barely feel it. I'd barely move at all. Just about two feet would be all.

I felt it. Came out shaking like a leaf on the other side, glad as Hell when my feet touched solid floorboard. A couple of seconds to steady my breathing and even out the power fluctuations, and I started to feel like myself again.

It wasn't spotless. Marie Portland's place had a lived in feeling. Nothing around it, though, screamed of any connection that might cause Gregory to off her. She had a few pictures around the wall. Most of them were of her family out on trips, visiting places. There were a few more of some other youngsters; classmates, probably. There wasn't a picture anywhere of Gregory, though. I dug into my chest compartment and brought out the snapshot I'd lifted from her wallet, and took another look at it.

There they were, smiling and getting along like partners in crime. I stood there, feeling sorry for myself before a notion hit me.

Depending on where this was taken…she might have talked about it.

I sifted through her desk drawers…nothing there. But when I got to her computer, I found the thing hibernating. A quick powerup brought me to her desktop, and a glance around showed a few folders of music, a photo gallery, a few game programs…

And what I was looking for. An electronic diary. I tapped the screen to open it up, and it asked for a password.

I smiled to myself and reached into my chest compartment. Little girls may have secrets from their parents, but they can't keep them from me. Even though it wasn't exactly standard issue, I kept a password crack module with me, courtesy of a Maverick I'd deactivated a few months back. Once it was plugged into Marie's computer, her password protection gave up the ghost in a few blinks.

The diary program had a nice little interface. It displayed a calendar, and the days that had entries flashed a green star. For the Hell of it, I opened the first entry she'd written after the mining accident in January.

**I'm finally home again after the cave-in. I don't know what I would have done without Gregory. He kept me alive, holding up the rubble all by himself. While I was in the hospital, he kept me company, helped me when I had nightmares about the mine again. He may be a reploid…but I think Gregory may be my very best friend.**

I sat back and nodded at that. It was the truth there. All the evidence and testimonials pointed to that friendship. But where did things start to go wrong? I skimmed through her entries after that, watching for other mentions of my Maverick's name. I found another one, dated in late April that had more than a sentence about him.

**Gregory and I went to the carnival in Phoenix today. It was so wonderful! I gave him a set of holographic emitters for his boots, and he looked perfectly human. Nobody looked at him funny or anything. We tried all the rides. I loved the Roller Coaster, but I think Greg liked the train around the park a little bit better. He even tried his first funnel cake…He loved it, even if I did sneeze powdered sugar all over his face. We took a few snapshots of ourselves. I gave him the set, but he cut one off for me. He said something after that, though…something that made me start to wonder. He asked me why, after all these months, I still spent time with him. I didn't have an answer, and we moved on after that, but it does make me think…Maybe he's become somebody special to me. If that's the case…Is it right? Can I actually be in love with Gregory?**

Of all the things she could have written, that last sentence was the one I'd never expected to see.

"Love?" I muttered softly. It could happen, sure. Her experiences lent themselves towards Florence Nightengale Syndrome, falling in love with your caretaker…But with a reploid?

Too dazed to figure it out any further, I flipped the program over to her last entry. It didn't add up before, and this mess wasn't making much more sense now. Why would a reploid like Gregory, who seemingly had everything going for him in life, go Maverick and kill a girl who was falling in love with him? A month would have passed between that last explosive entry and the one I was about to read. Maybe she'd told him. Maybe it had caused him to snap. Maybe things had gone wrong.

But…When I'd accused Gregory, he snapped at me with more fire than he'd had anywhere else. He'd said he could never hurt her.

Hell, he didn't even have a gun on him, and Marie died by a few .45 caliber slugs.

I opened up the last entry and read it.

**I'm going to Gregory's house tonight. He told me he loved me! He says that he has something special to give to me. I don't care what my parents or everybody else thinks anymore. I love him, and he loves me. It doesn't matter that he's a reploid. It shouldn't matter, when it's love. I don't know what's going to happen, but I'm going to follow my heart.**

"CHRIST." The dumbstruck words were out of my mouth before I could stop myself, and the sobbing in the next room over came to a sudden stop.

I'd broken cover, and worn out my welcome. I yanked the password cracker out from Marie's computer and forced myself to make the short warp jump up to the roof of the house. The move, as disturbing and traumatic as it was, came none too soon.

As soon as I could see again and was back in one piece, I saw the light in Marie Portland's room click on. A woman, her mother, if my guess was right, started wailing again. She'd probably read her daughter's last journal entry. I couldn't worry about it any longer. I jumped off a different side of the house and took off running.

A warning came up in the corner of my eye…Power irregularities. It made sense, considering I'd been going now for nearly a full day. Right about now I'd be settling in for a stasis cycle, the closest thing to sleep any of us reploids get. But I couldn't sleep yet. Not now. I pushed the warnings aside and chugged on. Wasn't the smartest thing in the world…eventually, all those irregularities add up, and there's been studies done that show there can be some pretty severe psychological damage if a reploid runs without rest for too long. Stasis helps to clear the head, keep the short-term memory buffers clean.

But for the moment, I had a Maverick who had claimed to be in love with his sole victim, a victim who was in love with the Maverick, a town short on answers, and a situation that made my circuits flinch.

She'd been killed during the night, or early in the morning right after she went to his place. In all of this, they'd never shown me the crime scene, or told me where to find it. It wasn't important to them. Just killing him was.

I keyed up my comm and hailed into my home base. They came back surprised. _"Base 36 here. Glacier, what the devil are you still doing up? You should have turned in for the night an hour ago." _It was one of our operators, a human called Dan Sellus. I'd worked with him before, since he usually covered the night shift. Like tonight.

"No time to sleep." I answered grimly, perhaps a bit more standoffish than I'd meant to be. "I need you to do something for me."

_"…Glacier, if this has to do with that last case you took, Sakfey told us not to help you. You need to get some rest. Relax. Take that vacation you're supposed to."_

That raised my hackles. "I don't have time for a vacation, Dan. Something screwy's going on around here. I need to figure it out, and I need your help."

_"We've got strict orders…"_

"SCREW Sakfey's orders!" I snarled, and I could feel the reverberation on the other side of the line. "I'm not so sure that this was your standard Maverick call. The evidence I've collected isn't adding up. I…Look, I've got doubts, okay? There's no way I could relax or kick back with the way I am right now. So if you want me to follow Sakfey's directive, you gotta help me with mine."

Dan sighed. _"You're not going to ask me to do anything illegal, are you?"_

I relaxed. If he was willing to joke about that, he'd given in. I wish there were more like Dan. He doesn't mind working with reploids. Goes drinking with us, even, sometimes. "No, nothing that bad. I just need you to look up an address."

_"All right, sure. What do you need?"_

"I'm looking for the residence of a reploid named Gregory. He worked here in Rattler's Ridge."

_"…Uh huh. Searching." _A few seconds of quiet, and then he harrumphed. _"Heh, you won't believe this. I've got a hit, but it's not in Rattler's Ridge. It's outside of it a little ways, just shy of the town line. West of your position, about two klicks. 423, Route 27. Licensed to one Gregory…no last name. That must be your guy."_

"Thanks, Dan." I exhaled.

_"…Hey, Glacier?"_

"Yeah, Dan?"

_"This…Gregory. Is he the…"_

"He was." I answered, not wanting him to say the rest of the sentence. _He's the Maverick I killed._

_"You sure that…"_

"Trust me, Dan. I know what I'm doing."

_"Just…promise me you'll explain all of this when you come back, all right?"_

"Only if you're buying." I chuckled. "Take care, Dan."

_"Good hunting." _He shut off the connection, and I found myself alone again. Never bothered me much, the solitude of my job, until tonight. Maybe it was just my suspicions, but I felt a lot colder than usual. Maybe it was a leak in my liquid oxygen or nitrogen stores, too.

I turned myself west, got my bearings, and started running out. For a change…

I ran on all fours. It kind of felt good.

* * *

It wasn't a house. It had been one once, but given the state of the smoldering remains, it hadn't stayed one. The place had been burned to the ground, and a sparse bit of embers here and there still crackled on the Treeborg wood.

A lot of dusty footprints were around the burned out structure. This place had had a lot of company recently. The question was, was this place torched down after Marie Portland was killed, or before, or during? And what would Gregory have wanted to give her?

I hadn't even found the murder weapon yet. With Marie dead by .45 caliber slugs, there was a missing handgun. Maybe…Maybe the town didn't want to accept the screwed up relationship between Marie and Gregory. Maybe that's why they'd been so quiet.

I took another look at the footprints, narrowed my eyes. No, these were about a day old. The same time as the fire, which would put them late last evening, early morning. I headed inside the burned up shell and sifted through the ash. My guess was I'd find the murder weapon in the rubble.

Five minutes later, I found something. It wasn't a gun, though. It was mostly buried under ash, badly tarnished and slightly warped from the heat, but it wasn't a gun. My hand hit a small piece of gold jewelry.

I hoisted it up and stared at it. It was a momento piece, a drop locket. I wiped off some of the grime with my thumb, and felt tiny grooves underneath. Writing.

**I'll love you forever. G and M.P.**

"Frigging…Hells." My voice came out rough and unsteady. Another warning in the corner of my eye. My constant activity was starting to catch up with me. I ignored it, since the pounding repercussions of my discovery hurt a lot worse.

Gregory hadn't called her to his place to kill her. He'd given her this locket…Or he'd tried to. And as many footprints outside the wreckage as there were, it sure looked like the town didn't approve. They'd come to try and stop it. They'd burned Greg's house down.

After everything, all my doubts finally caught up to me. His words burned into me, and for the first time, I finally heard him.

_I could…never…Not Marie. I didn't. They did._

"He didn't kill her." I said it out loud, and damned myself all in one stroke. I had deactivated a…no.

No. I didn't deactivate him.

I'd put a bullet through his head. I'd killed him.

Gregory hadn't been a Maverick. He'd just been a screwed up kid who fell in love with the boss's daughter, and got caught…

I'd murdered him. I'd taken a life that hadn't been Maverick. If he'd just been a Maverick, I could've written it off. It's easy to reassure your conscience when you're killing killers. This…

I could feel a stain on me now. It had always been there. How many Mavericks had I retired? How many reploids…

**Mavericks deserve no mercy.** He hadn't been Maverick. I'd shown an innocent reploid a Maverick's justice. So what did that make me now?

I knew the answer without even thinking about it. But I didn't want to say it. Because if I said it, then the rules I lived by applied to me.

I didn't hear the company coming until the car door slammed shut. Lost in my own world, I'd given up the element of surprise.

A flashlight caught me in the face, blinded me until I shut off the night vision. Even then, my optics were screaming at me. It'd take some time for the shock to wear off.

"Who's there?" I demanded.

The flashlight clicked off, and the fellow holding it let out a long sigh. "I didn't 'spect to see you all the way out here, Maverick Hunter."

_Sheriff Barnesfield._

"I'm surprised I was able to find this place at all." I came back, growling slightly. "This place got torched to the ground, and a lot of people helped."

My ears picked up the sound of the man scratching at his chest through his shirt. "Yeh, I reckon so." He drawled casually. "We caught wind of it in the morning not long after they started. I figure it was some of the townsfolk, gettin' back at the Maverick for killin' Marie Portland. Course, by the time we coulda done somethin' about it, the place was pretty much gone already, so I didn't see the point in botherin' the county fire department. And then you showed up, and dealin' with the Maverick was more important than saving his house."

The bastard was flat out lying to me. I'd finally had enough of him, but I had other things to deal with first.

"You know, I don't think I've seen the murder weapon."

"Huh?"

"Marie Portland was killed by three slugs. Gregory didn't have a gun on him, and I didn't find one here in the rubble."

The Sheriff set a hand to his hip…by his own sidearm, I noticed. "You don't say." He replied, the drawl gone in a heartbeat. "Maverick must've tossed it off somewhere in town. It'll turn up eventually."

"I'm sure." I replied, a bit more acerbically than I'd meant to let on. "Meanwhile, you mind explaining why you and everybody else in this town lied to me?"

The Sheriff narrowed his eyes. He had the same look he wore when he had first told me about Gregory in the morning. "What the Hell are you driving at?"

I should have shut up. I shouldn't have even said that much. But…It felt like something had changed in me. Maybe if I'd gotten more sleep. Maybe if my guilt over Gregory wasn't screwing with my circuits…

Instead, I pointed at the man. "The townsfolk didn't come out here to burn Greg's place down after he killed Marie Portland. And he didn't _kill_ Marie Portland. She was in love with him, for God's sakes."

Barnesfield's face twisted into a scowl. "The HELL he was! Ain't no way that a good honest girl like Marie would have ever loved Gregory. He was using her, by gum!"

I couldn't help but crack a fang-filled smile. "So you knew, then."

He scowled. "So what?"

"Well, if you left that out of your report on information about Gregory…and his place of employment…and where he lived…I gotta say, Sheriff, you're not exactly winning my confidence here. I'm wondering what else you might be hiding."

He set a hand on his gun, started to circle around me. Heh, I'd put him on edge.

"You got a lot of nerve, reploid, comin' into my town and trying to stir up trouble here."

I watched him, moved around only slightly. A closer look at his firearm didn't worry me. It wasn't a magpistol like mine was. It was just a standard issue .45 semiautoma…

_A .45 caliber…_

I narrowed my eyes. "Tell me, Sheriff, if I went back to the morgue in town and got a court order to take those slugs from Marie Portland's body as evidence, would they match up with that gun of yours?"

The Sheriff laughed, low and throaty. "You got balls for a machine, you know that? One thing you left out, though. You won't be making your way back into town."

"Is that right?" I mused. "One warp and I'm not only out of here, but I'm back at base with all the evidence I need to put you and half of this Goddamn town into a hole for ten years of your life or more."

He didn't seem fazed by that. "Go ahead. Give it a try, then." He grinned at me. "You won't get far. Trick is, son, we got ourselves one of those transport dampeners a while back. We figured it'd be good to help keep the mine reploids in check. And right now, it's running in my car. Nothing can warp in or out of here for half a mile around."

I frowned, and brought up my warp menu. Nothing but static. Shit, the sonofabitch was on the level.

I held my arms down at my sides. "So that's it then, huh? You're gonna try and kill me?"

The Sheriff shrugged, letting out a sigh. "See, that's the problem, son. It's like what happened with Marie. You got in the way, she got in the way."

He'd killed her. What I wouldn't have given for a mike and a recorder right then. He pulled out his gun, held it loosely at his side. "You think I meant to hit Marie? Hell no. As soon as Mr. Portland got the word out that his daughter'd run off out here to meet with Gregory, me and some of the other boys in town rounded ourselves up a posse. We came out here, figured we'd smoke Greg out, have a 'talk' with him to get him to stay away from Mr. Portland's kid. We didn't expect to find her still out here with 'im." His face scrunched up into a scowl. "We didn't expect the two of 'em to be…sleeping together, either…"

His distaste at the concept made my blood curdle. Not that I approved of reploids and humans being lovers myself, but this man stank of bigotry.

"So what? They came out in a bedsheet, and you shot her?"

"She came out as honest as the day she was born, except for a blanket around her!" Barnesfield hollered angrily. "God, if her father'd been there, he would have died on the spot out of shame! And there was no way I was going to let her throw her life away on a stinkin' robot like Greg! So yeah, I pulled the Goddamn trigger…And she stepped in the way. Stupid kid."

My blood boiled at that. And yeah, reploids have blood. It's purple.

"There were three slugs in Marie's body, you sack of shit." I growled. My claws ended up popping out at that.

Barnesfield chuckled a little, and leveled his gun at my chest. "Hm. I guess I pulled the Goddamn trigger three times then. She just got in the way. Kind of like you, reploid."

"You think I'm gonna let you kill me?" I asked, bending over a little bit into a crouch.

"Naw, I don't think you're gonna let me." He yawned. "Of course, that ain't gonna stop me either." He pulled the trigger, and the slugs bounced off of my armor.

He blinked. I smiled and shook my head. "Boy, you really are just a hick mountie out in the middle of nowhere." I said aloud. "Those bullets might've killed Gregory, but they won't do dick to me. Give up, and I'll try not to break all your ribs when I take you in."

He chuckled and reached into his vest, pulled out another piece.

This one put the fear of God into me.

He had a magpistol. One look at the magnetic accelerators and the coolant vents along the ventral lines said it all, even in the dark.

He looked over at me. Didn't have it pointed yet, but he was itching to. "Huh. You know, reploid, you ain't smiling now. See something you're scared of?"

At this range, he'd be able to squeeze off two shots before I got next to him. I only had one choice.

Freeze and run.

He raised the gun up. I raised my hand up. He fired. I froze the air in front of me into a huge block of ice. The bullet punched through, blunted only enough to cut through my side instead of my chest.

I took off running, and dove for cover into the wreckage of the house. I threw up walls of ice every direction I could think of. My systems were screaming at me from the damage, and eventually, screaming at me for dipping in so hard to my reserves of Liquid Nitrogen and Oxygen. Even though Greg's house was long gone, in a few offhanded throws, I made a mazelike mess of jagged shards and crystals.

I grit my teeth against the pain, and pressed a hand against the wound. The shot had punched through the right side of my chest and come out under my armpit. It was bleeding pretty good, but a shot of LOX set the injury solid. Didn't help my internal operations energy any, though.

_I.O.E. now at 84 percent. Caution recommended._

"Shit." I muttered, and took a look back through the maze. My infrared could pick out the sheriff's heat signature, even through the piles of ice I'd set up to protect me. He was coming in slow and easy, taking his time. He didn't need a bunch of quick shots. One decent one would do the trick. That's the bitch about a magweapon. You hit a guy in the microfusion tank or the head with one, long as they're not in the heaviest armor imaginable, you're gonna punch through. And magrounds hit messy.

He kept the gun in a shooter's posture…One hand with a flashlight to guide him, and his gun arm resting on top of it to steady his aim. "Nice trick with the ice there. I see why they call you Glacier." He called out. That flashlight beam could be trouble, but my ice, for as many layers as he had to peer through, was doing a good job about scattering the light. It wouldn't stop him forever, though. "It's not gonna save you none. You got nowhere to run, reploid!"

I threw up some more ice and called back at him. "Maybe I'm tired of running from you, you backwoods bastard!" A shot blazed through my ice barriers and whizzed a meter off my head. Damn, his hearing was fine. That ruled out calling back to Base 36 for backup. I'd be dead before I finished the first sentence.

"Just keep talking, reploid. I'll get to you." He called back lazily. Smug bastard thought he had me in a pinch…trick was, he probably did if I kept this up.

But I had one advantage I hadn't used.

Down, attached to the side of my leg by a weak electromagnetic seal was my magpistol. I hadn't used it since I…since I murdered Gregory…And it would definitely do a lot to even the odds. Using it, though, was out of the question. I didn't want to kill him.

_But what if it's a choice between him dying or you dying?_ A voice in the back of my head spoke up. I cringed at it. No. No, I wasn't like that. I wasn't going to kill a human, even a fella like Barnesfield, who probably had it coming. Humans were great at killing each other, they didn't need me to take the fall…

**Mavericks deserve no mercy.**

Barnesfield wasn't a "Maverick"…But he definitely didn't deserve mercy.

_Why are you pulling your punches?_

I felt Barnesfield closing in, and I put some distance and some more ice between us. He chuckled again and fired off a few rounds for effect, shattering some of my barriers for the Hell of it. "I can keep this up all night, reploid. How about you?"

No. No, no, no. This wasn't right. Where in the Hell was I getting these ideas from?

_You gotta live, Glacier. Life's about fighting to keep it. You gonna curl up and let this prick plug you just because you're feeling guilty?_

"Not my fault." I whispered, no longer caring how weird it was I was arguing with myself. "I didn't know."

_Yeah, but you killed him. An innocent reploid, persecuted by this Godforsaken town called Rattler's Ridge, and you finished the job for all the self-serving human overlords. You took him out, hid their dirty little secret. But you knew better, didn't you? You just had to keep digging. No stone unturned, right? And you figured it out._

"Shut up. Shut up already." Another bullet zoomed through, crashed through my thigh. I threw my head back and hissed in pain. Jesus, that didn't feel good.

_You've got rules for Mavericks, right? Well, guess what. You're supposed to be serving the law. Not just the part connected to reploids. You took an oath to protect the world. Start living up to it, and protect it from this Goddamned town, starting by offing this hypocritical prig from the boondocks!_

**Mavericks deserve no explanation.**

I heard the Sheriff's footsteps closing in. He was rounding about my last sheet of ice. He'd have an open shot real soon. I could see him raising his gun, the flashlight beam was tracking in.

I saw him clear as day in my infrared.

_Him or you. Make the choice._

My hand went to my side. My gun came up. So did his. The shot rang out.

And funny thing…reploids are quicker to the draw.

He dropped, a small wound in his front, a big pool of blood seeping out behind him. I stepped over, and kicked his gun away.

Sheriff Barnesfield looked like he'd seen a ghost. He looked up at me, eyes wide and fearful. His breathing was shallow. I hadn't gone through his lung, but I'd probably clipped his diaphragm. That makes breathing hard, when you lose the muscle that helps out.

"You…shot me." He stammered.

I narrowed my eyes, and set my magpistol back on my leg. "Yeah. You shot me first."

"You know…what this makes you now." He came back, rasping bitterly. "Just another…stinking Maverick."

**Mavericks deserve only one thing…Death.**

I knelt down and set my hand over his chest. "Yeah?" I mused. "That makes two of us. I'll give you the honor of dying first."

That's the nice thing about ice, I thought after. It does such a great job of preserving a person's last expression. He died screaming and squealing like the pig he was. I kept pouring it on until I couldn't see him under all the layers anymore, then gave it a swift kick to shatter the icicle into dust.

It was quiet after that up at Gregory's place.

"You wanted the truth, Glacier?" I asked myself aloud, hitting my thigh with another freezing burst to stabilize the second point of injury. "You got it."

Barnesfield was right, though. I'd killed a human.

Even if he'd had it coming…

Even if he'd been a murderer himself…

I was still a Maverick now. All my rules applied to me. Even for a good cause…Was it worth it?

I took another look back at the ruins of Gregory's house, now plastered and coated in sheets and sheets of fake ice. My heart hardened.

Gregory was dead. Marie was dead. And this stinking, rotten town was still standing. I turned back and stared, then shook my head with a grim expression.

"If I'm Maverick…then there's no sense bothering with any of the rules except my own."

Tonight, things were gonna change.

* * *

I'd warped the Landchaser back to base before the night's bizarre events had started, and I wasn't about to call in and ask for it back. No, not with what I'd just done. Silence was the way to go. Since the Sheriff had been thoughtful enough to drive his car out to the ruins of Gregory's home, I took him up on the offer. He'd even left the keys in the ignition, thoughtful prick that he had been.

The only part of his cruiser I didn't like was that warp jammer…that got blasted frozen and thrown out the window at 90 miles an hour. It made a nice crunch when it broke apart. I should have made tracks for Rattler's Ridge. God knows the town deserved the fate I had planned for it, but…

Somehow, Barnesfield's police cruiser seemed to drive itself towards Mr. Portland's Energen mine instead. When I pulled into the lot and stepped out, I realized that my subconscious had the right idea.

Rattler's Ridge had a lot to answer for in the wrongful persecution and destruction of Gregory. It made a lot of sense to start at the place that had thrown him into slave labor…

_Thrown all of them into slave labor._

I wasn't any different on the outside. My reflection looked the same when I stared at the car's windshield. But my feelings were different…so were my thoughts.

**Mavericks deserve no sympathy.** They still didn't, and I was a Maverick now. Since only my rules mattered, I would have to come to terms with that soon enough…

But before then, Greg would get his justice.

The office lights were all off, except for the one right by the door. A security guard, maybe the night shift manager.

I walked up to it and saw a security guard in his office, scanning the security cameras lazily before turning back to a separate TV…some late night comedy tripe. It was good to know that they took security seriously. It would cost them tonight.

I couldn't have anyone alerting the authorities yet. Not until I was done. Not until I paid back Greg.

A knock on the door jarred the rent-a-cop from his stupor, and he jerked his head towards me. His face lit up in recognition, and he scowled for a moment before getting up and shambling to unlock the door. He held it open only a little ways and stared at me. "Yeah? What do you want, Hunter?"

"There's another Maverick that's made it to these premises." I told him.

The guard's eyes widened. "Christ, another one?"

"Don't panic. Just listen to me." I advised him, not wanting him to get hysterical, or worse, run for the alarms. "Is there any other humans on call tonight? I get the feeling they're his targets."

"Just the night shift manager, Mr. Worthman. He's down in the quarry supervising the workers." The guard opened the door and looked at me in worry. "So who's the Maverick?"

"He's right in front of you." I told him. He didn't have time to react before I froze him in a solid block of ice. One magpistol round through the misshapen brick shattered the guard to frozen splinters, and just like that, another human was dead.

It was getting easier, I thought as I pushed his remains under the security camera monitor bank to hide the evidence. The question was, was that a good sign…Or was I really farther gone than I'd thought?

Or did it even matter anymore?

**Mavericks deserve no explanation.**

The walk out from the trailer park offices to the quarry was a short one. The walk inside the quarry was shorter still, right up until I heard the voices of the mine workers inside. There was Digger, his gruff Jersey accent thick enough to knock over a cow, and the others that worked with him.

And then there was another voice. A human voice. Humans can't tell the difference between a human voice and a synthesized reploid voice, but my ears weren't for show. A good reploid can hear it.

The last forty feet around the curving tunnel and into a hollowed out subsection where the team all was was the longest walk I'd yet had.

I had killed two humans so far. The third one, I dreaded. A lot of humans put faith in numbers. Three is a very big number…for jokes, for dates, and for opportunities.

The third time I killed a human, there would be witnesses. Reploids.

Time moved at a crawl as I glided into the quarry's subsection. The human manager, Mr. Worthman was tossing some orders out. The other reploids, Digger included, kept working. They didn't look happy.

_Would they be happy after this?_

Worthman noticed me when I was fifteen feet out. "Hey, you can't be down here." He snapped at me.

The frozen time broke apart, and I saw red. It only took two seconds to kill him.

Two seconds to prove I was a Maverick for the third time.

Or maybe this was the first real time that I had let myself become a Maverick. I didn't kill to defend myself or preserve secrecy. This time, I killed him…

I hadn't used my regenerating cold stores. I'd used my claws to gut him and spill his stomach on the ground, letting blood and undigested food coat the razor sharp nails.

This time, when I killed a human…

I liked it.

**Mavericks deserve only one thing. Death.**

I blinked, and the red haze over my vision faded out. Digger, and everyone else was looking at me. Digger gaped and sputtered out the obvious. "You…You killed him."

My head nodded, moving independent of my own swimming and muddled mind.

Terror was in their eyes now. "What the Hell, man. What the Hell! You're a…"

"A Maverick." I finished. My voice was calm, flat…at peace. It felt right, suddenly, to say what I was. "You're free now."

"Free?" Digger shot back testily. "Buddy, what the Hell do you mean free? You've gone Maverick. They're gonna kill us all!"

"They being who?"

"The town, you maniac!" Digger lurched up and screamed at my face. If he'd been human, spit would have flown. "They'll kill us all now!"

Digger was afraid for himself and the others.

"You were right, you know." I told him.

"About what?" He demanded, getting more upset with me. "And how can you stand there and be so friggin' calm when you've turned into what you were supposed to kill!"

"I killed Gregory." I told Digger. "And Gregory was innocent. You were right. He wasn't a Maverick."

Digger stared at me. He didn't believe what I was saying. He'd hated me to begin with, as Gregory had been his friend…been all their friends.

"Then why did you say he was a Maverick?" Digger asked.

_Because you believed what those Godforsaken humans told you._

"I didn't trust my instincts. I followed orders." I told him. "No more. Greg wasn't guilty of anything except trying to be something more than the people of Rattler's Ridge wanted him to be. Greg was innocent." My eyes hazed red again, and the way Digger reacted, it wasn't just in my mind. "It's Rattler's Ridge that is guilty."

"What are you going to do?" Digger asked, horrified.

I took a look at Digger, and the rest of his energen mining crew. They were right to be afraid. One Maverick in a town, they'd send a Hunter in to take care of them.

Two Mavericks…Protocol turned a little more ugly, and loads more invasive. If they stuck around, they'd be caught in the whirlwind. Interrogated, fired, transferred…they might even be reformatted, all their experience and personality wiped clean.

"First." I pointed to them, and then back out towards the exit. "You leave. You don't look back. You run towards the nearest town, and you don't stop until you reach it."

"But the nearest town to Rattler's Ridge is…"

"One day's walk." I finished for him. "Time enough for me to finish up here."

Digger looked back to the others, and then back to me. He was still on edge. Mavericks had that effect on normal reploids. Hunters hunted Mavericks, Mavericks attacked everything, and normal reploids always got caught in the crossfire. "To do what? Kill the rest of the people in Rattler's Ridge?"

"That's the plan."

"And…you're just going to let us walk out of here." Digger went on dubiously, eyeing me over. "You're not going to try and change us, make us Maverick?"

"Being Maverick isn't a disease, Digger." I said. "It's a choice. Do you want to be a Maverick?"

"No!" Digger sputtered, terrified again.

"Of course not." I muttered back, turning away from them. "You just want to be a normal reploid. You want to live, and work, and not be hassled by anybody. A good life. A simple one. A long life, if you're lucky. So keep it, then. Get out of here. You and the rest…get running. Don't look back. Don't come back. And don't try to stop me, or I'll do to you what I'm going to do to the rest of this Hellhole."

Digger and the others hadn't moved. The disemboweled body of Mr. Worthman was rotting on the floor, keeping them frozen to the spot. Digger called out after me. "And just tell me something, Mistuh High n' mighty ex-Maverick Hunter, when we's get to the next town, just what exactly do we tell 'em, huh?"

He made me stop walking. I thought about it for a moment.

That moment hurt me. I was torn three ways.

I was outraged. Rattler's Ridge had made me kill an innocent reploid, whose only crime had been falling in love with the boss's daughter. I wanted all the rotten people in that rotten gulch to suffer, and I was looking forward to doing it. That made me a Maverick.

I was a Maverick Hunter. I killed and hunted down Mavericks, "Retired" them to keep the peace and ensure that the folly of a few didn't impact the whole of our species. I should have killed myself.

And through it all, my own guidelines, my Code, left no room for doubt or error, or budge.

**Mavericks deserve no explanation.**

I looked back over my shoulder. "You tell them the truth." I heard myself say. The words sounded like rocks falling through a shaky pond. "You tell them a Maverick has destroyed Rattler's Ridge, because that's exactly what is going to happen."

Not waiting to hear their answer, I walked out of the Energen quarry and made my way towards the departed Sheriff's car. I was a Maverick, and I would die as a Maverick. It was the only way I could be honest with myself.

I had made my choice.

* * *

That red haze…

I fell into it as I returned to Rattler's Ridge early in the morning. It took me the hours until sunrise to finish setting up the killzone.

I didn't want a single survivor. Nobody would leave. Nobody. The only ones who would be spared were Digger and his fellow reploids, and they were miles outside of town.

First, the telephones went down. Next, courtesy of the Sheriff's personal armory, an electronic scrambler made every wireless and satellite communication device within the small radius of the town absolutely useless. Barnesfield must have been an exceptionally paranoid man in life, because he had everything else I needed back in his headquarters. An explosive detonator was attached to the power substation that kept Rattler's Ridge glowing, the trigger signal tied to a switch I took with me. I froze windows and doors shut. A proximity sensor system placed around the area would help me track down any source of movement once the shooting started. Nobody was going to make it.

It took me until the faint light blue wisps of sunrise in the east to get all that done.

Sunrise.

And I was seeing red.

I don't remember specifics about much that followed. The bomb went off. The town's lights went dark. There was silence for a moment, and then people started making noise. The motion sensors lit up with activity, and the map of the city on my internal HUD put a dot next to every person.

Some I shot. Some I ripped to shreds. Most, though…I froze. I coated the town in ice, thick, translucent layers that swallowed buildings as easily as people. The screams, I remember. Some shrill. Some throaty. Some begging, some crying as they went. Some swore at me. Some tried to attack, others hid under furniture. It didn't help. They would break out of their barred houses, and I would be waiting there for them. They couldn't run. Not from my eyes. Anything that moved in Rattler's Ridge…I knew about it.

The lights went out, one by one. Rattler's Ridge started to go quiet, and even in the oppressive heat, a definite chill hung over everything. I'd taxed my cryonics to their limits, and it would take them a while to recharge.

The blips had been nonexistent for several minutes, but suddenly one more appeared.

It had been hiding, hunkered downtown without moving. That's why I hadn't noticed the person it belonged to. It was running now, though…Running for the town outskirts.

I chased after the person, determined to end it. But when I got close, the blip became a person…

The red haze vanished…

And I was myself again. Only a monster.

One look at the tears in Rosa's eyes told me that.

* * *

"You bastard."

The first words out of her mouth, and she swore at me. She was crying. She had a right to be crying. Everyone she knew was dead, dead by my hands.

"Why?" She asked, her bitter voice hollow. "Damn it, Glacier, _why?"_

"Penance." I told the waitress. The bloodlust was gone. Looking at her now, I felt only regret. "It…I…They deserved it."

"They deserved to die?!" She shrieked, waving an arm at the ruined, frozen town behind us. "All of them? Not just the men, but the women? The children?!"

"And Gregory deserved to die?" I shot back. "He wasn't a Maverick, and I killed him! I killed an innocent reploid!"

"So you think that killing everyone in Rattler's Ridge somehow makes things even, is that it?" She sobbed. "God, Glacier. Look at yourself. You're a Maverick. You're a Maverick, and you don't even know it!"

"I know it."

She looked at me, dumbstruck. I nodded.

"I know I'm a Maverick. And no, destroying this town doesn't make up for what I did to Gregory. But this town was a wicked place. Now, it's just a graveyard. The hatred in this place…It's all on ice."

"Is that how you justify murder?" She demanded.

I felt my temper rise at her challenge. "And what about all the reploids I've retired as a Maverick Hunter, huh? Isn't _that_ murder? Or are you one of those people who believes that murder is a crime that only happens when humans are killed?" I held up a bloody clawed hand for her to see. "You look at me, and you tell me, what's the difference between killing fanatical reploids and killing fanatical humans? The color of their blood? Disposing of the body?" I lunged up next to her, and her scream was cut off when her throat tightened. "Rosa, I was a murderer long before I showed up here. This place just opened my eyes."

"So you're a Maverick now." She insinuated, looking away and sniffling. "You're going to kill all the humans here."

She meant that I was going to kill her, too.

The guilt was getting the better of me. I wanted to kill her. She was just another filthy human. Another person who either did nothing or helped when the mob attacked Gregory and Marie.

I put my bloody hand under her chin, cupped it, and raised it so she had to turn and look at me.

"Tell me something, Rosa." I began calmly. "And answer honestly. Did you know that Gregory and Marie were in love?"

Her eyes widened and filled with tears again. Even with her face hostage, she diverted her eyes in shame. "I…I suspected, but…I never knew…"

My hand tightened, cutting her off. A faint chill from the ends of my claws made her shiver. "And if you had known…Would you have tried to stop them?"

"Love…" She began, taking a moment to stifle a sudden fearful sob. "Love is love. Isn't it the most important thing we have?"

And there was my answer. Her salvation.

I pulled my hand away and closed my eyes. "Get the Hell out of here."

She didn't move. I snapped my eyes open and growled at her. "Go on. Get. I'm sparing your life because of two reasons. One…you were nice to me. You made a decent cup of joe. And two, Rosa, you are the only person I've met in this town who ever treated reploids decently. For that, you get to live. So move. There's nothing left for you here but painful memories."

She stumbled backwards, shaking her head. "Why?" She asked. "Even with all that…why don't you kill me?"

"Because you're human." I heard myself say crassly. "You find some dumb schmuck, and you spread your legs and get knocked up, and suddenly you have a chance to make new humans that aren't racist. The next generation, Rosa…Is in you. Reploids are built. Only humans are raised."

Rosa didn't quite know how to take that. Smart woman that she was, she didn't press her luck. She turned and ran out to the sheriff's car. I'd left it just outside the city limits. I watched her get in and drive off, kicking dust behind her.

Just as well. I didn't need the wheels anymore.

By 7:40 in the morning, the number was in. 1 survivor. The rest of the town's former 1400…Dead.

* * *

_Rattler's Ridge, Arizona_

_May 25__th__, 2120 C.E._

_7:47 A.M._

The streets of Rattler's Ridge were coated in ice, both true and dry. Frozen bodies and frozen rivers of blood stained the land a miserable red. Motion sensors, basketball sized black boxes attached to the sides of buildings and cars left abandoned kept blinking their LED lights, letting everyone know they still functioned.

It was a small settlement, one that could be anywhere on earth. The story would probably have been the same everywhere. Hard times, a changing economy, and the coming of a workforce with human intelligence and superhuman capabilities had led to a power struggle between a race of machines and a race of mammalian bipeds that had made them. The only thing that was different about Rattler's Ridge…

Was that here, something had changed.

Here, the boiling point had tipped over, irreparably, irrevocably. There would be Hell to pay.

Rattler's Ridge was silent. A thick fog of melting ice and sublimating vapor shrouded the town, trying desperately to hide the horrific event from the world. There would be no hiding from it. No escaping it.

The town's only living presence was a visitor who had been there for only a day. A day had been enough.

He could have run away. He should have run away, and never looked back.

He just couldn't.

* * *

_So, you let it come to this. _

"Shut up." I growled. It was my own voice, my own inner conscience that was yelling at me now, berating me to fight, to live.

I was tired. I was a Maverick. I was a Maverick Hunter.

**Mavericks deserve no mercy.**

_Run. Run, and live._

My communicator went off. I looked down at it, tapped the line.

Base 36. Home.

They were calling.

"Glacier." I heard myself say. The voice was empty. As tired as I was.

_"Hey Glacier, this is Dan. I'm just about to sign off, but I thought I'd give you a call. Did you find what you were looking for?"_

Dan Sellus. Another human. One that didn't deserve to die. One that deserved better than a freak like me for a friend. "I guess."

_"You…You don't sound too good, Glacier. Are you hurt?"_

"No. But you need to alert the base. There's another Maverick out here."

_"My God. You're kidding!" _Dan exclaimed. I said nothing, and he sobered up. _"You're not. How bad's the damage?"_

"They're all dead, Dan." I told him, feeling the words roll off my tongue as natural as anything I'd ever said. "This town's nothing but an open graveyard now."

_"How?" _Dan was incredulous now. Sickened, by the sound of it. _"Damn it…how could…there were over a thousand people living there!"_

"Dan…Stop talking to me and sound the alert." I was signing my own death warrant now. My voice stayed perfectly calm through it all. "Do it."

_"I'm…okay, Glacier. I just hit the alarm. But how did you survive? If this Maverick was powerful enough to wipe the town out, how come he didn't kill you?"_

I stared up through the icy fog and hammered the last nail in my coffin. "Dan…I'm the Maverick."

_"…What?"_

"I killed them. I killed everyone. You know what you have to do, Dan. Everybody at Base 36 knows what they have to do."

_"Glacier, why…"_

I severed the connection before he could finish his question. I already knew the answer.

**Mavericks deserve no explanation.**

But if I was to give one…

I stumbled through the mists and headed for the old warehouse where this whole mess had begun. There, I would wait.

* * *

_**Glacier's Personal Log. **_

_**May 25**__**th**__**, 2120. Sometime around noon.**_

_They're coming for me. I've been listening in on the radio chatter. It's been nonstop. They know what I've done. I told them, but they know now. They have satellite pictures. They know what I did. It's got them all worried. They're saying that it's Sigma all over again. Maybe they're right._

_Why __**did**__ Sigma go Maverick two years ago? Why did he do it, when he had everything going for him? Was he crazy, a nutjob the entire time? Did he see something as dark, as awful as I saw about humanity? Did something make him go Maverick?_

_No. No, I might be wrong, but I think it had to be a choice. Somewhere before he nearly killed everyone in the MHHQ, Sigma must have made a choice to go Maverick, to declare war on humanity._

_Maybe he had the right idea all along, and we've been fighting on the wrong side of this war._

**Mavericks deserve no mercy.**

_No. No, I would have fought him then. Killing all the humans won't solve the problem. There are good humans, too. Like Rosa. Like Dan Sellus. Doctor Cain, out in Japan._

_Like Marie Portland._

_I wouldn't be able to kill them. Sigma would, but I can't._

_I'm a piss-poor Maverick. _

**Mavericks deserve no explanation.**

_I can't go back, though. I can't change back. I was a Maverick Hunter. One of the better ones. I had honor._

_Honor's gotten me here. A fugitive, a kill on sight. I could tell them why I did it. Nobody would listen._

_Nobody ever wants to hear why a Maverick went Maverick. You hear the word, you have one response. Fear._

_You kill Mavericks. You don't psychoanalyze them._

**Mavericks deserve no rehabilitation.**

_The radio…they're saying that they've only sent out two Hunters. I expected a squadron, but I didn't expect them._

_Mega Man X. Zero Omega. The two great ones. The greatest of the great. The Hunters that took down Sigma twice in a row. Against one, I would probably lose. Against the both of them, I don't stand a chance. Zero's Rank S, and even though Mega Man X is ranked B, that's meaningless. There's no measuring him, if the stories are right. I'm only a…I was only a Rank A._

_Another Maverick Hunter gone off the reservation. They're right to send those two. I'm a danger. An absolute danger. The repercussions of what I've done are probably going to last for years. How are they going to explain me? _

_No…I know how they're going to explain me. Sakfey's got enough ammo in his brisket to send me down the river. I was overworked. I was stressed out. I was bound to flip. They'll probably try and pass some new Hunter procedures to give Hunters more time off to decompress…Like it'll change anything. It won't. It won't change the heart of the problem, because they can't. And what I've done…it'll happen again. I didn't want this. I had a good life. And it's all shot to Hell now. I don't even have a life. I'm on borrowed time._

**Mavericks deserve no sympathy.**

_I still think about it. I'm sitting here in this warehouse where I killed Gregory. His remains are lying right where I froze him, shot him…killed him._

_I didn't retire him. I never retired anyone. It's a stupid word. Say it for what it is._

_Murder._

_What's the difference between killing an innocent and killing a Maverick? What makes the first so awful and the second so noble? I used to know. I don't anymore._

_I've found myself trying to apologize to what's left of Gregory since I've been in here. I iced over the entire inside of the warehouse. It's my own little "Fortress." Isn't that what Mavericks do? They hole themselves up in some room, and wait for the Hunters to show up and kill them?_

_I've been trying to apologize. I can't. _

_Maybe that's why I killed them all. It wasn't to silence the world of a great evil. There's still more dumb, insensitive schmucks in the world than I could ever kill. Maybe I killed them because they made me kill Gregory. It doesn't absolve my own guilt. Nothing ever will. I killed an innocent reploid. _

_But maybe Gregory can rest. He's been avenged. It doesn't matter what happens to me. _

_I'm just a Maverick._

**Mavericks deserve only one thing…Death.**

_In a different world. In a different world, Greg would still be alive. He and Marie would be in love, and maybe have a life with each other. Nothing bad would happen._

_I wouldn't be here. _

_But we're not in that world. We're in this one. And in this world, innocents die while the guilty live. _

_Today, I changed that. I made the choice, and I changed that._

_…The motion sensors are going crazy. Two people are moving towards me. The sensors are being destroyed. _

_It's them. They're finally here. I can hear the sound of Buster fire. _

_It doesn't matter. Nothing does now. Nobody will ever hear this, or read this. Nobody will know why I went Maverick, and nobody will care. They'll kill me, and the world will say the problem's fixed, and they'll move back to their miserable lives._

_And the world won't change._

_Until it makes the choice. _


	5. The Dogs of War

_**MEGA MAN X: FROM THE SIDELINES**_

A Collaborative Collection

**The Dogs of War  
**

By Patrick "Magus523" Frazier

* * *

_New Tokyo, Japan_

_2133 C.E.  
_

The streets of Tokyo bred their own fair share of orphans, runaways and nobody's children. The East Street Orphanage didn't take in all of them-no one institution could-but for those unfortunates who lived within its walls, it provided food, clothing, and an attempt at education. Most of the youngsters thus rescued were duly grateful, or at least had the sense to pretend gratitude.

Jack was one of the exceptions. He had been less than three years old when Sigma had led the elite of the Maverick Hunters in the first, greatest Maverick Uprising, becoming the threat they had been supposed to protect against. Not everybody within Tokyo had been lucky enough to escape their rampage. It was after the Uprising had been quelled and peace restored that cleanup crews had found that one of the wrecks of a car contained a living child, trapped with the rotting remains of his family and near starvation.

Even when rescued, though, the baby had simply been quiet and accepting, never crying or screaming. The policemen decided he had done all he would of that before being found. Records showed that his family had been in Japan on vacation when the Uprising broke out, and there were no living relatives to send him home to. Thus, Jack Long became one of the Orphanage's wards. Family he had none, and the Orphanage could not give them to him. He therefore gave the Orphanage nothing back in return, especially not respect.

It was purely by good luck that Jack wasn't in trouble on the afternoon that the news programs were reporting on the Fourth Maverick Uprising. He'd been in trouble the day before, and was currently working on a way to outdo that incident, more out of boredom than actual malice. Seeing the footage being broadcast that day, however, drove all thoughts of that out of his mind. He stayed there, eyes fixed on the Maverick Hunters of the 17th and 00 Units as they dealt with the renegade reploids, until the caretakers literally forced him away. Even after that, his thoughts raced for the rest of the day, and kept him up in bed.

Four years later, the rebellious kid was gone, replaced by an eighteen-year-old youth who stood among a crowd of about fifty other recruits in Maverick Hunter Headquarters. There were no actual Hunters there yet, and so the chatter was prevalent, dozens of conversations mixing and melding into the familiar noise whenever people gathered in large amounts.

"Maverick Hunters, huh?" A humanoid reploid to Jack's left said to him with a grin. "Hot damn. Can't believe I finally got the guts up to enlist. Know what I mean?"

"Kinda, yeah." Jack agreed after a moment, smiling a little in return. "I've been thinking about it for years myself, but actually _being_ here's a whole different story."

"Exactly." The reploid whistled. "Couple months in training and we'll be out there busting Maverick heads. Real hotshots. What Unit you going to try for?"

"Hell if I know." Jack chuckled. "They don't divide us up until they actually see what we're good at, right? Figure I'll find out then. Keep my options open."

"Smart, smart." The reploid nodded. "I really wanna try for the 00, though. Maybe it's a pipe dream, but hell, it's worth a shot, right?" He extended a hand. "Name's Dorian. How about we both shoot for the top? Come on, gotta be optimistic in this line of work."

"I'm Jack." After a moment, he shook Dorian's hand. "All right, why not."

"All right, you've all got five seconds to shut up!" A male voice bellowed into the room, and instantly, the chatter fell silent. From the rear door, two fully armored reploids walked in, instantly recognizable to every recruit in the room. One in red, and one in blue. After a moment, the one with the red armor stood still and blinked. "Damn. They all actually did it this time. Guess I'm buying the drinks tonight, X."

"Told you these ones looked like a good crop, Zero." His companion chuckled good-naturedly. "All right, everybody. Don't want to sound like a blowhard here, but I'm pretty sure you all know my face, and my friend's here. Just for the record, though, I'm Mega Man X, Commander of the 17th Unit, and I'd like to welcome you all to the Maverick Hunters."

"We regret to inform you that, due to current budget difficulties, the complimentary life insurance policies for all recruits are no longer in effect." Zero added with a smirk.

"Do you mind?" X shot him a dirty look before continuing. "I'll be honest with all of you. You've signed up for a messy job. Even those Units who don't see direct combat action against infected Mavericks may still find their lives in danger at any moment just because somebody out there had a bad day. But we're all here for a good cause. To save lives, as many of them as we can. Human or reploid, it doesn't matter to us as long as they need our help. That's the only reason we're here-to stop the Mavericks. It's why were created, and why we continue to exist." He fell silent, and glanced over to Zero.

"Our job as Commanders is to lead you guys into battle, to take on the worst part of a mission, and to whip you all into shape." Zero summarized neatly. "Before you all get assigned into individual Units, there's basic training to be done first. You'll spend the next few weeks together while we teach you the drills and figure out what all of your strengths and weaknesses are..." He paused for a moment, then winced. "All except one. Is there a Jack Long here?"

"That'd be me." Jack raised his hand, ignoring the startled buzz that ran through the crowd. "Is something wrong, sir?"

"Not wrong, no." Zero shook his head. "Let me just ask you one more time, then. You sure this is what you want to do? Becoming a Maverick Hunter?"

"We have positions open in the support staff as well." X added kindly. "You don't have to be on the front line. If you'd prefer to work in the garage or anywhere else, we can put you there."

"I'm sure, sirs." Jack stared Zero in the eyes. "The recruitment officer asked me the same thing. Four times. It's still a yes."

"All right." Zero sighed. "In that case, you're not going through basic training with the rest of the recruits. You're a member of the 13th Unit, effective immediately. They'll oversee your training separately."

"Jack, man." Dorian was staring at him openly now, as were most of the others in the room. "Are you a human?"

"Well, yeah. 13th Unit?" Jack repeated, looking around. The other recruits, Dorian included, began whispering and muttering, stepping away from him in nearly a single fluid movement. Some of them even stared openly, finally figuring out what they had been too dense to notice before. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that as of this minute, your ass belongs to _me_, son." Shouldering his way through the crowd, the old man who had spoken stopped in front of him and glared. Judging by the wrinkles on his face and the silver sheen of his buzz cut, he had to be at least fifty years old and two hundred pounds of muscle and attitude.

"You're my commander, then." Jack narrowed his own eyes. "Human too? Mind telling me why everybody's treating me like I'm a pariah, then?"

"That's because you are. Not much to look at, either." The Commander spat on the ground, then shook his head. "Hope you've got your-_what was that?_" He turned around suddenly, glaring at one of the other recruits.

"Huh?" The reploid stared back insolently. "What's it to you, old man?"

"Oh, boy. Here it comes." X muttered.

"You've got an attitude problem, don't you, newbie?" The human Commander slowly began walking towards the smart-mouthed reploid, the rest of them melting out of his way. The targeted recruit looked a little wary at that point, but stood his ground as the Hunter continued walking. That was a mistake. As soon as he was within arm's reach, the old man moved like a streak of lightning. In an instant, a beefy hand was raising the recruit off the ground by his neck and slamming him up against the nearest wall.

"Don't do that." The old man advised him, shoving his palm further into the reploid's neck. "I'll give you a pass because you're new and dumb, but the next time, you get to pick which ear you want to say goodbye to. First lesson, kid. If somebody's made it all the way to Commander in this outfit, pissing 'em off is a _bad idea._" Whirling, he threw the recruit down into the floor. "Huh. Not bad bounce time, I guess. Good for something."

"Give him a break, will ya, Bulldog?" Zero commented. "Kind of defeats the purpose of getting new recruits if _you_ kill 'em all before they even see action, doesn't it?" Despite the reprimand, he sounded more amused than anything else.

"He's not _my _recruit." Bulldog walked back over to Jack. "Commander Randolph Hayes of the 13th. Call me Bulldog. _You_ feeling rowdy?"

"Nope." Jack said, stone-faced. "I make it a point not to _deliberately_ get my ass kicked. Sir."

"Glad to hear it. This way. We're done here." Bulldog turned and marched back the way he had come, and after a moment, Jack followed him.

"Good luck." X called after him, making the silence surrounding the well-wish even more obvious. Nobody else was moving in that room except Jack and Bulldog, and the former realized as soon as they had left the room that he hadn't been breathing either.

"Don't do that either." Bulldog said in response to his audible exhale. "Control your breathing. Don't hold it unless you need to, and when you do, do it all the way. Christ, don't you know anything?"

"I didn't exactly come from a military background." Jack half-muttered.

"No kidding." Bulldog grunted. "Well, here's our barracks. Welcome to Mutt Unit, kid." The door hissed open, and Jack followed him in, looking around at what would apparently be his new home. It wasn't a very positive sight. The décor was fine, but the inhabitants were second-hand. Every one of the Hunters walking around with datapads, leaning against a wall chatting, or openly watching the new kid looked like something out of a poster for veteran's rights. Most of them had scars openly visible, and while there was a decent scattering of reploids, more than half of the Hunters were humans, all of them save for Bulldog under forty.

"Human Hunters always go here, don't they." Jack realized finally, meeting the gaze of a black male who looked even younger than him. Half the Hunter's face was covered in scar tissue.

"You got it. And the only reploids we get are the ones who no other Unit would want. That's why we're Mutt Unit, son. We're a mixed-breed." Bulldog kept on walking, and Jack continued following him, though he looked around to see as many faces as he could.

"Hey, new guy!" A thirtysomething male wearing a black fedora leaned out of a door ahead and waved, grinning. "Welcome to Mutt Unit! You want in on the betting pool?"

"Oh, goddammit, Ira." Bulldog muttered without stopping. "Every time."

"Hey, thanks." Jack smiled back. "Betting pool? What's it on?"

"It's how long you live!" Another voice called from the room. "Smart money says you croak on your first mission!"

"How about it?" Ira was still grinning as Jack walked past, not saying another word. "Come on, you could leave something nice to somebody back home if you get lucky! We're good for it!"

"All right, here's my office." Bulldog pushed open the door and sat down behind the stainless steel desk. Both chairs were made of the same uncomfortable material. "Let's get this acceptance review crap out of the way, then I'll have somebody show you around."

"Whatever you say, sir." Jack slouched in the chair in front of the desk, expecting another reprimand. Bulldog, however, didn't even pause from looking over the datapad apparently containing Jack's information.

"Okay. Okay. Good. Okay. Don't care, don't care." The old man grunted, scrolling down. "No next of kin?"

"Uprising orphan." Jack shrugged.

"Good. Better not to have to worry about anybody's ass but your own, in this unit." Bulldog muttered absently. "'Course, that doesn't stop 'em from shacking up. Downside of getting' 'em young, I guess." Putting the datapad aside, he stared at Jack. "Well, you're with the Mutts now, son. You familiar with Hunter protocol?"

"Mostly." Jack answered warily. "I looked up the important stuff before I joined, but I don't exactly have every Subrule 32-B in the book memorized."  
"Good enough." Bulldog nodded. "We've got a few more here, but most of 'em are more like guidelines. You can learn 'em later. Only three real important ones. Number three." He held up his index finger. "Keep your mouth shut. You don't have to be a mute or anything, but nobody around here's impressed much by bragging. Only ones who mouth off are the headcases. We're here to do a job, not get action figures made outta us. Make sense?"

"Never was big on seeing myself six inches tall and made outta plastic anyways." Jack shrugged.

"Good. Number two." Bulldog added his middle finger. "Don't start fights with the other Hunters. Period. Doesn't matter _what_ some other loudmouth in another Unit says, you brush it off. Just tell yourself chances are he'll be dead before you are." He paused for a moment before continuing. "Of course, if _he_ hits you first, I'm gonna be severely disappointed if you don't hand the dumb shit his ass then and there."

"I think I can manage that." Jack agreed again.

"And that bring us to rule number one." Bulldog put his hand down. "Don't die. Stay alive, no matter what the hell you have to do. _That's_ what being in Mutt Unit means, son. We're human. We can't match up with reploids on a purely physical level, no matter what we do." He leaned back in his chair. "Either you're gonna live, or you're not. It'll be apparent early on. Most of our losses happen in their first month with us. If you can live that long, you'll see at least a few more birthdays."

"I don't quite follow you, sir." Jack admitted. "First you said we suck compared to reploids, and then you said if I can live out the month, my chances are high."

"That's because there's only one way a human can come close to reaching a reploid's level." Bulldog explained. "You've got to be _good._ Don't show off. Don't leave openings. Don't give the enemy even a second of leeway. Do any of those, even once, and you're fucked. Learn where, when, and how to hit 'em that'll take them down, hard. We'll teach you what to do, but it's gonna come down to you, in the end. If you can pull it off, you're one of us. If you can't, you feed the worms. Probably end up doing that anyways, but maybe if you're lucky, you'll get to have some fun first." He grinned suddenly. "Wish you hadn't joined up?"

"Hell no. Sir." Jack shook his head. "This isn't what I was expecting, but it'll do."

"Good man. Don't get optimistic. Live with the hand you're dealt. And speaking of which, time to issue your weapons. You'll get fitted for armor tomorrow." Bulldog rose and pulled a pair of firearms out of his desk. "M4 Wildfire magpistol. Mark 17 X-Buster. Lose 'em or break 'em in anything but combat and the replacements come out of your paycheck."

"Everybody gets the same, huh?" Jack accepted the weapons, glancing down at the Buster before fitting it onto his arm. The egg-shaped device slid on easily.

"We'll let you try a beam saber, and if you do better with that than your Buster, you can trade it in." Bulldog explained. "You're keeping the mag, though. They're not as high-powered, but the thing about humans is that we're not walking power plants. Buster or saber, it's gotta recharge separately instead of hooking up to us to keep running. Won't last forever. You can reload the Mag in the field if you gotta, and sooner or later you will. Those weapons will be all that keeps you alive-we can't use Heart Tanks, Sub Tanks, or Dash Boots. And we get old. Even if you don't die in the field, you'll be here two decades, max. No more." He spoke without a trace of self-consciousness.

"Sir." Jack holstered the Magpistol on his belt and nodded. "I'll try to last that long."

"Good. I'll see you again in a little while, but for now..." Bulldog reached over and pressed a button. "Whoever's hangin' around outside the office, get in here and give the boy his tour. We're about done."

"Waiting your turn to put me through the wringer, huh. Sheesh, you people." Jack sighed and turned his head around, and instantly became religious.

"Right here, boss." The reploid who walked in didn't look at all like the rest of the 13th Unit. An attractive young female, light on her feet, her body was halfway between curves and athleticism beneath red and brown armor, including a set of Dash Boots. The armor and boots aside, she looked human save for her ears, pointy and furred sticking out from auburn hair. Grinning cheerfully under pale gray eyes, she nodded at them both. "I drew the short straw."

"Figures." Bulldog grunted. "Get out of here, Kit. Show 'im around."

"Nice to meet you." Jack rose, smiling again and fighting to keep eye contact. "I'm Jack."

"Hi! Kit Carlyle." She shook his hand warmly. "Welcome to the 13th. Grab anything you shouldn't, and you'll be breathing through your eye sockets the rest of your life. Nice to meet you too!" Turning, she twitched a literal tail that hadn't been visible before. "Come on, let's get out of here. Bulldog never airs this place out."

"Huh." Jack raised an eyebrow. "Thought you said-"

"That was a threat, not a boast." Bulldog didn't look up from another datapad. "And I said 'except the headcases,' too. Now get."

"Oh, yes _sir._" Jack rolled his eyes as he followed Kit out.

***

"Over here's the med bay." Kit indicated with a wave of her hand. "Needless to say, that's where you wind up if you're busted but not dead, so we're probably the only Unit in the Hunters that _likes_ seeing the inside of that place. The old department head quit a couple years back, so we've got a new guy by the name of Lifesaver running it now. He's all right, but he doesn't have half the personality of the old doc."

"Got it." Jack nodded, more or less the same response he had made through the rest of the building's tour for the past hour. Now, though, instead of simply continuing to walk and talk, Kit froze in her tracks.

"You know, you're not really talkative." She raised an eyebrow, looking over her shoulder at him. "Just closemouthed in general, or what?"

"I told Bulldog that I tried not to _deliberately_ get my ass kicked." Jack explained, leaning against the wall of the hallway and crossing his arms. "That still goes for a pretty girl."

"Well, at least you're talking about it now." Kit followed suit a few feet away. "Look, all I said was you can look, but don't touch. I'm not really _that_ violent."

"So you say." Jack frowned. "What makes you think I would in the first place? Do I really look like that kind of guy?"

"Nah, but I can tell when a guy's thinking it." Kit explained with a shrug. "Call it a perk from my last job. Figuring out which ones are actually gonna do something is trickier, so I just play it safe these days."

"Well then, let me assure you once more than I have no intention of, ah, 'breathing through my eye sockets' any time soon." Jack fixed her with a slight smile that didn't extend all the way to his eyes. "But I'm guessing you're still not going to actually feel friendly towards me."

"Nope." Kit admitted cheerfully. "Not gonna get that just by remembering how to talk."

"Seems a little one-sided." Jack bantered. "Not really fair."

"You're in Mutt Unit, and you're talking about _fair?_" Kit asked, mock-incredulous.

"Touche." Jack inclined his head. "Well, if we've gotten that out of the way, is there much left of this tour?"

"Nah, just back to our barracks." Kit rose and set off down the hall again, Jack following her once more. "They're right over here. Doesn't really make any difference putting us near Med Bay, so I can only assume whoever decided that thought it would be funny."

"Wouldn't surprise me." Jack agreed. "Do all the Hunters live on-base?"

"Not all. Some of 'em have apartments out in the city." Kit turned her head so he could see her rolling her eyes. "Mostly the guys who think being a Hunter is a part-time job. Even if you get fried your first time out, at least you were a _real_ Hunter for a few weeks, so be proud of that."

"I'll remember to have it put on my tombstone." Jack sighed. "I'm going to keep on getting this 'you gonna die' thing every chance anybody gets until I'm sent out, aren't I?"

"Pretty much. Right, here's your room." Kit stopped in front of a door. "You'll be bunking with another guy, the newest one aside from you. Try not to kill each other before the Mavericks get you, huh?"

"I'll keep it in mind." Jack said with a straight face.

"Hey, Kit! About done carting the corpse around?" It was Ira, the obnoxious Hunter with the fedora from earlier, and he was grinning as he walked down the hall. "How'd it go?"

"Yeah, we're done here." Kit echoed the grin with one of her own, stepping forward to embrace him. "Hi to you too. Shame about this one. He's too cute to die this young."

"You know how it goes. Only the good, right?" Ira ruffled her hair, then turning to Jack. "Name's Ira Glass. Betting pool's still open any time you want, kid."

"Gee, thanks." Jack shook his head sourly. _Of course. The perfect capper on my day._ "Actually, though, I think I'll just go slit my wrists instead. Maybe choke on my own vomit. Something like that. Why waste time, huh?" Turning away, he was about to yank the door open when he heard Kit speak again.

"Do you really think we're screwing with you?" Her voice was no longer cheerful, and after a moment, Jack turned back around. She and Ira weren't smiling; their faces held what looked more like pity than anything else now. "We're not just giving you a hard time."

"Sure looks like it to me." Jack snorted. "Mind elaborating?"

"Three out of four." Kit said. "That's how many new recruits die the first time they actually go up against a Maverick. We only get to keep one out of every four for longer than that. You ever had a friend die, Jack? Ever watched them go down, bleeding and screaming, right before your eyes?"

"Can't say I have." Jack admitted.

"If we got all buddy-buddy with every new kid who wanted to be one of us, we'd go crazy before we saw retirement age, no contest." Ira shook his head. "More importantly, we'd go trying to save them or something like that, and get ourselves killed too. That's not the way we do things in Mutt Unit."

"It's nothing personal." Kit continued quietly. "But nobody here is going to want to be your friend until they see that you're a survivor. Sorry, Jack. It's the only way we can operate, and nobody can fix that. Not you, me, God, or the devil. Not even James Cain." She and Ira turned away and started walking. "Live out the real thing, and we'll buy you a beer and call you buddy. But we're not getting our hopes up for that."

"Great." Jack muttered to himself, watching them go for a moment before entering his room. "My hopes, dreams, and aspirations with fries on the side."

"Welcome to hell, there's a cover charge." A male voice with a pronounced Irish accent in the room agreed. "Hey, new guy. Looks like we're roomies until one of us kicks it. Of course, we might hit the jackpot and make it out alive, but the odds on that are about the same as Vegas from the way the rest of the Unit acts."

"Sounds about right to me." Jack closed the door. On the top bunk, the youth with the scarred face he'd seen earlier was reading a football magazine. "You got the same treatment when you came in, I'm guessing."

"Everybody gets that treatment." The Hunter explained without looking up. "Of course, how rough it is depends on who you get showing you around. If you're lucky, you get Chloe or Davy. If you're not, like me, you get Blackjack Ira." Closing his magazine, he looked up. "I'm Tommy Finn. You?"

"Jack Long, and you've got my sympathies." Jack looked around the room; it was smaller than he'd had at the Orphanage, but larger than he'd expected. "Been here long?"

"Three weeks. One mission so far. One kill. Just a small-time crook who freaked out." Tommy raised an eyebrow. "Don't have any stuff?"

"Figured it'd be better to grab it later instead of showing up with it at the front desk." Jack shrugged, smirking. "And my guide said I didn't talk much."

"Tip for the way things go around here." Tommy turned back to his magazine. "Don't spill your life story unless somebody asks for it. If they want to hear, they'll let you know. If they don't, they really don't."

"Thanks for the heads-up." Jack climbed onto the lower bunk. "Real friendly operation you've got going here."

"Bulldog figures whatever works is cool." Tommy answered. "So who'd you get the tour from, then? Can't have been Ira."

"Close." Jack shrugged. "Foxy lady."

"What-oh. _Oh._" Tommy was silent for a moment before laughing. "Oh, _man._ Don't _ever_ let Kit hear you call her that. She'll demolish you."

"Yeah, I kinda figured that out." Jack stretched. "Is it just me, or is she kind of sensitive about that sort of thing?"

"Definitely. You think you're the first guy in the Unit to think she'd make this job worthwhile? She always knows, every time." Tommy still sounded amused. "Not my place to say why, but she's got her reasons for being like that. You want to find out more, ask her or Ira."

"Maybe." Jack made a face. "Is she really sleeping with that jerk?"

"Nobody knows except them." Tommy answered. "They never do anything more than hug in public, that's for sure. But they've never been interested in anybody else, either. Maybe they're just partners, maybe not. Either way, you're not getting a shot at her."

"Wasn't planning on it." Jack muttered.

"Oh, _really?_" Tommy laughed again.

"Well, not after she said hello, anyway." He amended. "Something about a girl who threatens horrible violence to my face, you know?"

"Instincts like that, maybe you'll live after all." Tommy said, still chuckling. "I'd offer to give you a hand in the training room tomorrow when Bulldog wasn't looking, except Bulldog's _always_ looking."

"Figured as much. No helping it, then." Jack made a rude noise. "I'll just have to come out of it looking good by myself, then."

"That's the way." Tommy agreed. "That, and staying alive. Good luck on both counts, Jack. We all need as much of that as we can get."

***

"About time you got here." Bulldog growled as Jack walked into the designated training room at eight AM on the dot. "Guess we can finally get things started now, unless you wanted to dick around some more." Three other Hunters, including Tommy, were waiting there as well without comment.

"Sir. I'll remember that normal laws of time don't apply in this unit in the future, sir." Jack said sourly. Unless they wanted to have their limbs replaced with hydraulics, humans had to go with a lighter plasteel set of armor that was less durable than what reploids could use, and Jack had spent the last several hours getting his fitted.

"Yeah, you do that." Bulldog agreed, either ignoring the sarcasm or failing to notice it. Fiddling with the master computer for a moment, he turned off the lights. "All right, kids. Class is now in session."

"Holographic simulation." Tommy whispered to Jack. "Just don't nail us, and we'll be cool. Bulldog seems like he's in a good mood, so it shouldn't be too rough."

"Simulation profile verified." The computer chimed in. "First Maverick Uprising, Tokyo airport. Threat moderate. Enemy weapons set to wound."

"This is a good mood?" Jack whispered back.

"Hell yes. Could have been one of Sigma's fortresses on semi-kill." Tommy retorted.

"Enough passing notes, schoolgirls." Bulldog yelled. "Get to work. I'm not bailing your asses out if you get thrown off the edge."

Around them, the holographics were taking shape, forming the airport. Fifteen years ago, one of the renegade 1st Unit by the name of Storm Eagle had taken their flying fortress into the Airport for refueling. A rookie Hunter by the name of Mega Man X had taken the opportunity to slag the ship and its captain both. Now, the four Hunters dashed from one mile-high platform to another, firing off at flying mechanoids and stationary cannons.

"Know the difference between actual Mavericks and drone robots!" Bulldog instructed as they moved and shot. "A robot can't be intimidated, tricked or surprised. They're just programmed to follow certain patterns. If you know what they're going to do in a situation the first time, you'll know what they'll do the rest of the time. They're nowhere near as dangerous as an actual Maverick, and if _any_ of you even _think_ about getting killed by one of those third-rate scraps of metal, I'll disown you on the spot!"

"Man's got a point. This isn't so rough." Jack nailed a flying claw. Almost automatically, they had split up into two pairs. The other two Hunters, one of which was a reploid-Jack thought his name was Morgan-took the lead and opened up the path, while Jack and Tommy kept their backs clear and followed.

"Wait until we get to the big man himself." Tommy snorted. "You'll be eating those words. They never reinstated another 1st Unit after the first one went Maverick. Except for X and Zero, and maybe a couple other guys, those bad boys are still the best this place ever turned out. Four on one's gonna be no picnic for us."

"All right, you two, come on up." Morgan called, waiting at the end of a ledge. Before him, a series of hoverplatforms led through the air to the wing of Storm Eagle's pride and joy, the _Death Rogumer._ "These things are going to fall as soon as we step on 'em, so either we all make our jumps together, or you get to stay behind. And something tells me Bulldog wouldn't accept that as a passing grade."

"You've done this one before, then?" Jack asked as they formed up in a square.

"Couple times. All right, running jumps on my mark, and don't lose an inch of momentum." Morgan instructed. "GO!" One, two, three jumps and they were on the _Rogumer_'s wing. Without needing to be told, all four simultaneously took out the two missile launchers aiming at them, then braced themselves as the ship vibrated heavily, taking off. "All right, now we try and sneak onboard. Won't work, though; Eagle's programmed to catch us. Let's get going."

Sure enough, as they began worming their way into the ship, the top half of it exploded around them, flattening out to a thirty-foot platform of metal, still rising. A shadow blocked out the sun, dramatically, and a deep purple reploid slowly descended, the metal wings on his back flapping. The four Hunters fanned out, and even before the Maverick landed, began firing wildly with their Busters, holding their ground for the moment but ready to dodge at a moment's notice.

"Hmph. No manners, I see." Eagle sniffed with a clipped British accent. "Should have expected as much from a pack of brats. What, did you think you could steal this beauty? No point in wasting time, then." He raised the bulky weapon on his right arm and fired it straight at Jack, who prepared to dodge. Instead of the expected plasma, however, what emerged was a burst of whirling air pressure, created by the turbofan in the Maverick's arm. Surprised, Jack was a half-second late on his sidestep, and got clipped, shoved violently backwards.

Only then did he realize, belatedly, that he had been standing far too close to the edge. For a moment, he tried to fight the current, but to no avail; flying five feet backwards and onto his ass, he tumbled over. To his credit, he refused to scream, only narrowing his eyes and sighing as the ground below began to approach. _Oh, this is going to hurt._ Overhead, the sounds of the fight slowly faded away, but he continued looking up, regardless.

Surprisingly, before Jack hit the ground, the _Rogumer_ above was suddenly lit up with an explosion on deck, and began to descend itself. A moment later, the sky around faded into black, and then he was back in the training room, on his feet and unharmed. The other three Hunters avoided making eye contact.

Bulldog, on the other hand, was stomping towards him like an earthquake, eyes narrowed and teeth bared. Stopping right in front of Jack's face, he waited for a moment before speaking. "Well?"

"Well." Jack echoed, deadpan. "That sucked. Now what?"

A moment of absolute silence passed, and then another, before Bulldog began to chuckle, slowly, eyes closed. "Heh... heh heh... he goes down without doing a damn thing, and that's all he has to say." His eyes shot open, and he stared Jack head-on. "Son, you've got balls. But you're useless in a fight. All right, all of you. Uncle Bulldog's gonna give you a treat. The rest of you weren't fuckups, but you could have done a lot better. Sit back and watch how you _should_ be doing it, this time." Crossing over to the computer, he typed a few commands in.

"If I've got this right, nothing'll be able to see us this time; he's goin' it solo. Damn." Tommy muttered to Jack, and the other two Hunters nodded. "I think he actually likes ya, Jacky boy."

The holographics appeared again, but this time they were centered around Bulldog, and started on the _Rogumer_'s wing. Taking out the turrets, Bulldog paused for a moment and wrenched an iron pipe off of one wall before continuing into the depths. Like before, the top of the Rogumer exploded, and Storm Eagle descended. Upon his arrival, Bulldog suddenly became an entirely different person. Wide-eyed, he turned to stare at the airborne Maverick, pipe slipping from his fingers.

"What the hell?" Jack muttered, then fell silent as Tommy shushed him.

"You're not X." Eagle greeted Bulldog, eyes narrowed. "You're a Hunter, though, that's for sure. He brought along one of the greenhorns we missed?"

"S... sir." Bulldog stammered. "I'm Hayes from the 8th. X said I was just supposed to work on the ship, and he'd..." Stepping forward nervously, his foot landed on the dropped pipe, and he promptly slipped and fell, the metal shaft rolling over towards Eagle.

"What the-" Eagle blinked for a moment before laughing uproariously. "Oh, this is too rich. Wait until Spark hears about this one. X said he'd take me out, hmm? Well, my friend, I'm afraid that's not happening."

"Okay, okay." Bulldog whimpered, not rising. Still on hands and knees, he crawled over to Eagle. "Please don't kill me, sir. You were a Hunter, right? Come on, I never had anything against you guys. I just came along because of orders."

"A Maverick Hunter who says he's got nothing against Mavericks? Pathetic." Eagle sneered. "Sorry to disappoint you, Hayes, but since you hadn't noticed, we decimated the rest of the Hunters ourselves just a few days back. Hiding in a closet, were you? Well then, I might as well do one last favor to the old establishment." He raised his turbofan. "Afraid this won't be quick, though."

"Sorry, sir. Gonna have to disagree." In the blink of an eye, Bulldog rose, ramming the pipe into the turbofan's blades before it could activate. His other hand came up, grabbing Eagle's other hand, and he pulled the Maverick forward and down, twisting in the air to reverse their positions. Storm Eagle landed on his back, stunned, and before he could react, Bulldog was bringing up his magpistol and ramming it into the enemy's forehead. A single shot rang out, and a moment later, the holographics faded away.

"Holy _shit._" Tommy summed up all of their opinions after several moments of slackjawed silence.

"You." Bulldog rose, pointing at Morgan. "Tell me how I killed him with one shot."

"Control chip." Morgan winced. "It's a reploid's brain, and it's almost always in the same spot, clearly visible. If you can destroy it, the reploid's dead. Period."

"Good. You!" Bulldog pointed at the next one. "Why is going for the control chip not as easy as it sounds?"

"Most of them are about an inch square. Tough target to hit, especially if it's trying to kill your ass. You'll never do it any other way but point blank." The Hunter-his name was something like Will-rattled off. "If the Maverick knows you're trying for it, you've got no chance. Only way to actually pull that one off is to surprise him, and make the first try count."

"Good. You!" Bulldog moved on to Tommy. "Why did I do all that 'please don't hurt me sir' crap?"

"Because... he was tougher than you are." Tommy said after a moment. "Reploids are stronger than humans. Intimidation would backfire, so we should do the opposite. Play the fool. Make 'em think we're nothing serious. Get them to underestimate us, figure they don't even need to fight. Then kill 'em before they figure it out."

"Good. And now, you." Bulldog regarded Jack. "Tell me why I bothered with that pipe."

"Sir." Jack stared him in the eyes. "It was in case you screwed up. No plan is perfect, and there was the chance you would botch it. There always is. If you had, you wanted to be prepared. Knowing what you're doing is no excuse to take risks."

"Right." Bulldog nodded, unsmiling. "Okay, we're done here for now. Get outta here, all of you. Except the new guy. My office. Let's go." Turning, he strode out of the room, and after a moment, Jack followed him, smiling at Tommy's thumbs-up.

This time, Jack looked around the office more closely. On the back wall, a framed portrait of an elderly man hung, with the title _Doctor James Cain._ Below it were several more, smaller pictures, most of which featured a younger Bulldog with a pretty blonde woman and a little girl, or the two of them separately.

"Son, I'm gonna be honest." Bulldog sat behind the desk. "I don't quite know what to make of you."

"Well, I suppose that's better than just writing me off as a fuckup." Jack raised an eyebrow.

"See, that's the thing. You've got shit for actual ability. Out in the field, you'd be dead." Bulldog explained. "But you don't act like it. Your attitude tells me the opposite. You talk like a survivor, and that's what's confusing me." He drummed his fingers for a moment, the nodded. "Here's what I'm gonna do. You're still gonna show up to the scheduled training sessions on time, every time, or you'll regret it."

"I was kind of planning on that anyways." Jack replied.

"However." Bulldog raised a finger. "Any time you want to go back there on your own time, and put in more hours, I'll set up the computer to let you boot a session for yourself. It'll be up to you if you want to do anything with that or not, and don't come crying to me if the guys in Med Bay get pissed off about hurting yourself. If you can actually back up your guts, then maybe you'll stand a chance after all. Sound good?"

"Good enough for me, sir." Jack nodded.

"Thought so. Now get the hell out of my office." Bulldog said, picking up a datapad. "I've got work to do."

***

The MHHQ's mess hall wasn't exactly four-star cuisine, but neither was it as horrible as Jack had expected from a military outfit. Most of the time, he took his food, found a table in the corner of the room, and ate alone in peace. Unfortunately, that was doomed not to last; a week after his enlistment, his dinner was ruined by a glass of water pouring over his head.

"Whoops!" The Hunter who'd done it snickered. "Sorry about that, man. Didn't even see you there. S'like you were invisible, or something!"

"It's cool." Jack muttered, fighting to keep his temper under control. Grabbing a napkin, he began drying it off. "No problem."

"Oh, you agree with me? Huh!" The reploid grinned. "Don't even consider yourself worth paying attention to! So, why are you still hanging around here? You're taking up space, man!"

"I enlisted. Now I'm sticking it out." Jack said tonelessly, still looking away. "That's all."

"That's all? Oooh, listen to mister tough guy!" The Hunter laughed. Most of the others in the cafeteria were looking away or wincing, but one or two were smiling nastily as well. "Well, good thing you die easy, then. Shouldn't take long-"

His voice cut off in a painful grunt as Kit Carlyle drove a knee into his back. Grabbing him by the helmet, she bent him over backwards over her leg, and judiciously threw him down onto his face after several painful moments. "Somebody here hasn't been paying attention." She announced to the silent room. "Hasn't been thinking too hard, either. Let's ask the audience. What would you call somebody who signs up for the Hunters knowing full well they're gonna die?"

"Crazy." An experienced-looking Hunter answered after a moment.

"Ding ding ding." Ira Glass said, leaning against the wall next to Kit and cleaning his fingernails with a nasty-looking knife. "Got it in one. So, logically, that means that every single damn Hunter in the 13th must be crazy. Would that surprise anybody?"

This time, the silence dragged on.

"I'd say that's a pretty firm no." Reaching down, Kit pulled the bully back to his feet, then shoved him onto a bench. "One thing about us, though. We take care of our own. So next time you, or anybody, wants to try and show off, think about it this way. Do you _really_ want to pick a fight with an entire Unit of lunatics who figure their days are numbered anyways?" She turned to Jack. "Come on, kid. Let's get out of here."

"Uh, sure." Jack avoided eye contact with her as well, but stood and followed the two of them out. Once the mess hall's doors had closed behind him, he spoke again. "Thanks."

"Don't thank us, you idiot. If you'd shown some balls, we wouldn't have had to do shit." Ira told him disgustedly. "It's called a reputation. Hold up your end of it, will you?"

"Bulldog told me not to start fights." Jack argued, glaring at him. "Said the only ones who did were-" He cut off.

"Were the headcases?" Kit grinned, ignoring Ira's dramatic eyeroll. "I've heard it before. It's probably true. He didn't say anything about finishing them, though. Anyways, a little birdy told me you've been putting in double time in the training room. True?"

"Pretty much." Jack said, shrugging. "There's only so much it can do compared to actual fieldwork, I know, but it's better than nothing. God knows I need it."

"A for effort, then." She winked. "Keep it up, and maybe we'll drop by sometime to give you a few tips. How's that for motivation?" Without waiting for his response, she waved and started walking off.

"For the life of me, I will _never_ understand women." Jack muttered absently.

"Old habits are hard to break." Ira explained with a chuckle. "Don't read too deep into it, kid. And dry yourself off in the bathroom over there before the cleaning staff finds you leaking all over the hall." With a casual throat-cutting gesture that was probably meant to echo Kit's wave, he set off after her.

"Oh yeah. Team spirit just overflowing here." Jack said, but he followed the jerk's suggestion all the same. Thoughts of the training room weren't particularly appealing at the moment, though. More out of random wandering than any actual desire, he eventually found himself drifting into the MHHQ's library. Wandering through the shelves, he tried to recall the last book he had read, and was surprised at his embarrassment when he couldn't do so. Eventually, he settled for grabbing a title he had at least heard of, and sat down at one of the tables to read.

"Shakespeare, hm? Unusual choice around here." The Hunter he hadn't noticed commented, looking at his book. She was an older female, but still attractive, her face untouched by the scars crisscrossing her arms and hands. Out of her armor, it was easy to tell her species.

"I've heard this one was good. I don't do much reading, normally." Jack admitted. "Mutt Unit, huh? I'm the new kid. I guess that means you're going to be telling me I'll die horribly right around now."

"You've been spending too much time with Blackjack Ira." She rolled her eyes, smiling. "Jack, right? I'm Chloe Yasune."

"Tommy mentioned you. Said you were good people." Jack smiled back. "Nice to meet you. Nicer to find out not everybody in the Unit thinks I'll forget the obvious if they don't mention it every five minutes. So far it's just been Tommy, Davey and now you."

"Consider it motivation." Chloe suggested. "It's the way most of the people in this Unit operate. I don't talk like that myself, but I understand it all. When you do too, you'll have passed the bar." She paused for a moment. "Always assuming you don't die first, of course."

"Oh, of course." Jack shook his head, but kept smiling. "Have to keep that caveat in mind at all times."

"You're catching on." She joked. "Don't let the rest of the Unit get you too down. Randolph thinks you'll make it, and he doesn't say that often."

"No kidding. Well, I'm not complaining about that." Jack blinked. _Wait, Randolph?_ "I take it you've known him long?"

"Longer than just about anybody. I actually joined the Hunters earlier than him. Back before there was a Mutt Unit." Chloe put her book down and looked up at the ceiling speculatively. "Fifteen years ago, it would be now. Hard to think about, really."

"Fifteen..." Jack did the math quickly. "The First Uprising wiped out all the Hunters except X and Zero. Right after that, huh?"

"You've got it. Spent a few years being passed around like a hot potato before Mutt Unit. Nobody wanted to be responsible for me getting cut down." She shook her head. "I was actually glad to get tossed in with the rest of the 13th. At least we're all on the same page, you know?"

"Yeah, I get what you're saying." Jack admitted. "Just hope I can make it the same way."

"Well, that depends." Chloe pursed her lips. "Tell me something, Jack. Why are you here? In the Hunters, I mean. I've heard enough from the others to know the usual reasons aren't applicable."

"Long story short?" Jack sighed, looking out the window. "It was the only thing I could think of that would be worth doing for the rest of my life."

"Honest." Chloe noted. "If naive. Do you think other people's lives aren't worth living, just because they're not Hunters?"

"I wouldn't know, would I?" Jack shrugged. "But I thought about it for a long time. This just seemed right. Even if that was only because I didn't know shit, I'm sticking with it. If I die, at least I tried."

"That is true. As long as you don't have regrets, then." Chloe inclined her head briefly. "There are worse reasons. Cain would have liked you."

"Glad to hear it." Jack looked back at her. "Mind if I ask you the same question, then?"

"I don't mind." Chloe nodded gravely. "The problem is, I don't know myself. Fifteen years I've been here, and I'm still trying to figure out exactly why. It doesn't seem anywhere near as clear as when I first limped in." She closed her eyes. "Back then, it was for vengeance, but that's grown old over the years. There's got to be some other reason I keep at it... but damned if I know what it is."

"Honest." Jack echoed, and she laughed a little. "Thanks."

"No problem." Chloe picked up her book, but kept looking at him. "I'll give you a tip. Nobody actually knows if you're a survivor or not right now, and nobody will until the first time you really think you're going to die. That's the moment of truth, Jack, and you're the only one who can make that decision when it comes. Be ready for it." She began reading again, and after a moment, Jack followed suit.

Several hours later, he decided that Shakespeare sucked.

***

When the thought struck him, Jack was surprised it hadn't earlier than that evening, around ten. Unfortunately, searching the halls failed to turn up any of the Hunters he knew. He would have even settled for Ira by the time he saw Dorian walking past. "Hell with it," he muttered before approaching the other Hunter. "Hey, Dorian."

"Huh? Oh, uh, Jack." Dorian smiled nervously. "Hi. Listen, I shouldn't-"

"Yeah, I know. I'll make it quick." Jack sighed. "Do you know if there's anywhere around here Hunters go to get drinks? A bar or something?"

"Oh." Dorian blinked before replying. "Yeah. There's one on site. Over in the east wing. Guy named Pugs runs it."

"Thanks." Jack turned, raising a hand. "Try not to die."

"Uh, yeah." Dorian said feebly. "You too, man."

It didn't take long after that before Jack was able to locate the watering hole. The interior was at least a century behind the rest of the MHHQ, maybe two; stepping across the oak floorboards, Jack smiled a little as he wondered if there had ever been sawdust strewn on them. It was a slow night, fortunately for him, and most of the stools were unoccupied. Choosing one at the far end, he waited the bartender, a canine reploid.

"What'll you have, chief?" Pugs asked without looking up from the mug he was polishing.

"Guinness. Tap, if you've got it." Jack answered without a beat.

"No problem." Glancing over, Pugs' eyes lit up in recognition. "So you're the new guy in Mutt Unit. I was wondering when you'd show up."

"Get a lot of the 13th in here, do you?" Jack watched him get the mug, and put some cash down. "Why am I not surprised by this."

"Because you look sharper than a bowling ball." Pug replied deadpan, bringing the mug and taking the bills. "Speaking of which." He looked pointedly down the stools to the left.

"Eh?" Jack followed his gaze to see Bulldog approaching, a half-empty mug in his hand. "Oh. Hey, sir."

"Evening, son." Bulldog climbed up onto the stool next to him. "Saw you in the training room today. Not bad. Keep it up and maybe you'll stand a chance." He shook his head. "Just don't botch your first mission. Even if you don't die, job security isn't as tight around here as it used to be. Still, X and Zero do the best they damn can. Have to give the two of them credit for that."

"Now _that's_ a shock." Jack snorted, downing half his mug in one go. When he put it down, Pugs and Bulldog were both watching him without a word. _Shit. I've stepped in it._

"Really now." Bulldog finally said. "And why do you figure on that?"

"Honestly?" Jack looked back at him. "I just can't really see you respecting _anybody_ very much. No offense, sir."

"None taken." Bulldog shook his head and signaled Pugs for another round. "You're pretty close. It's been a long time since there was anybody, except for one guy, and he died two years ago." Folding his arms on the counter, the old Hunter suddenly seemed to deflate, slumping forward and actually behaving like his age for the first time. "You know who James Cain was, son?"

"Wasn't he the head of the Hunters?" Jack thought back to what he knew of the man. "I know he was the one who created reploids, right?"

"Close enough. Found X, and figured out how to make more like him." Bulldog coughed as Pugs brought him his beer and immediately took a swig. "And if that wasn't enough, started up the Hunters too."

"He wasn't one himself, though, right?" Jack frowned, finishing his mug. "A Hunter, I mean. Pretty obvious he wasn't a reploid."

"Hey, the man was older than I am now before he even started on reploids." Bulldog said defensively. "Never saw a day of action in his life, either. That's no time to try starting combat training. Especially not when your leg gets crushed by that asshole Sigma's little fourth of June party. Friggin' Sting Chameleon."

"Don't worry, when he starts rambling like this, it usually means he's about to hit the wall." Pugs advised Jack, taking his mug and refilling it.

"I heard that, Pugs." Bulldog growled absently, not looking up. "Still, even then he was an active guy all the way to the end. You couldn't even tell his age by looking at him." A beat passed as he realized how ridiculous that had sounded, and then he chuckled. "Okay, yeah, you could. But not by the way he acted! Man didn't even let his limp slow him down. Had a great eye with that cane of his, too. Heh, Cain's cane. He _hated_ it when people'd make jokes about that."

"So naturally, you did at every possible opportunity." Jack guessed, drinking more beer.

"No, no, you're not getting what I'm saying." Bulldog waved a hand in the air wildly. "Look. You know how many times some jerk's tried to get the 13th removed from the Hunters?"

"Enlighten me." Jack raised an eyebrow, curious now.

"More than a dozen. At least once a year, ever since somebody decided to put all the human Hunters into this outfit. Had to have been either X or Zero who did that, but I never found out who, and after a while, I decided I didn't _want_ to know." Bulldog suddenly slammed a fist onto the table. "But not James Cain! Every single time he defended us! Wouldn't even hear of the idea! Said we were all Hunters, just like the rest of 'em!" He glared blearily at Jack. "That's when I started calling him sir. Only man I ever called that regularly. Even X and Zero only get it from me when it's needed. But James Cain... he was different."

"Sounds like he was a pretty special guy, all right." Jack conceded.

"He had it all, you know?" Bulldog's voice began slurring. "Fame. Fortune. Even family-X an' Zero allus treated 'im like a dad. He coulda just sat back after whippin' reploids up an' relaxed the rest of his life. Instead, he put the Hunters together! All out of his own pocket! An' he set things up so even after he went, his funds'd still keep this place runnin'!"

"Okay, that's pretty cool." Jack admitted. "How did he go, anyways?"

"That's the thing, kid. That's what gets me." Bulldog shook his head, staring down at the counter. "He just went. One moment he was sittin' there in the war room, we was all seein' 'bout Sigma's latest stunt. Didn't even notice it 'til everybody else started freakin' out. Brain aneurysm. Never told me, never told anybody but the doc an' his kids. Didn't wannus gettin' all gloomandoom. An' now he's gone. An' I'm... I'm... I..."

Slowly, the old man tipped backwards, then crashed to the floor and began to snore.

"It's for the best." Pugs remarked, not even looking over. "He was about five minutes away from challenging you to an arm-wrestling match."

"Huh." Jack looked down at his Commander. "Should I be doing something about this?"

"Nah, this happens all the time. I'll call a couple guys from Mutt Unit to drag him to his quarters." Pugs explained. "Don't offer to help just yet, they'll turn you down. Gotta prove yourself first."

"I already guessed that." Jack lied easily. All the same, he remained in his seat until Davey and another Hunter had carried Bulldog off, watching the sleeping old man out of the corner of his eye. Only when they were gone did he finish the last of his drink and depart, glancing idly up at the portrait of Dr. Cain hanging in the bar as he left.

***

The girl sitting on the bench outside Bulldog's office definitely wasn't a Hunter. She was human, for one, and didn't bear any of the marks of combat. More importantly, she was unarmed and unarmored. The real capper, though, was that she couldn't be a day over fifteen. Pink-haired and petite, she was listening to music with her eyes closed, apparently unconscious of her surroundings.

For once, Jack was alone in the hallway when he caught sight of her. After about a minute, he shrugged and walked over. From the way she was acting, it was unlikely she was a trespasser or a thief, but it still warranted investigation.

"Haven't seen you around here before." She said without opening her eyes as Jack approached. "Human, though, right? You must be new to Mutt Unit, then. Shame. I'll attend your funeral."

"Miss, this is Maverick Hunter Headquarters." Jack struggled to keep his calm, despite the irritation he already felt towards the newcomer. "Civilians really shouldn't be back here. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave unless you can explain to me what you're doing."

"I'm sitting on this bench." She answered calmly. "Listening to music. You don't _look_ blind, so I'm guessing you're just slow."

"That's quite enough of that." Jack narrowed his eyes. "Once again, miss, please leave now. I'd rather not have to make you."

"Oh, you wouldn't? That's different. Lots of Hunters would love having an excuse to get rough with some snotnosed punk civilian." She said it without a trace of self-consciousness, still not budging. "All right, officer. I'll give you a hint. Do you really think I'd be able to make it this far without anybody seeing me if I wasn't expected here? Especially in this place? Security was heavy enough before the Second and the Fourth. They ratcheted it up even more after Violen's rampage through here, and then again after Magma Dragoon went traitor."

"Okay, point. And you know your history, I'll give you that." Jack blinked, surprised. "Dragoon was big news, but not many people know about Violen, Serges and Agile. I'd bet even most Hunters probably don't remember those names."

"Oho! You're not so shabby yourself. All three X-Hunters. Was that on your final exams back in school or something?" The girl finally opened her eyes and regarded him, just a trace of a smile hovering about her lips. "You don't look like a bookworm."

"Definitely not. I just like learning about the Hunters, is all." Jack weighed his options. "I'm Jack Long, and you're right, I'm the new guy."

"Well, new guy, I think I'll go ahead and hope you make it. If nothing else, so I'll finally know somebody I can talk about Hunter history with. Dad never wants to." She held out her hand, and after a moment, Jack shook it. "I'm Maria Hayes. Looks like neither of us has japanese names. Not that that's really uncommon in the Hunters; they recruit from all over the world."

"Yeah, but I did grow up here, as a matter of-" Jack's eyes widened as the dots connected. "Wait a second. _Hayes_?"

"And the light dawns!" Maria's eyes danced, openly amused. "You got it, Jack. Bulldog's my dad. I'm here waiting for him."

"No kidding." Jack shook his head. "So that's why he lives off-site."

"Just don't do anything stupid and ask about my mom." She advised. "Hope you haven't to him, anyways. Mavericks, back before the third."

"Gotcha. Thanks for the advice." Jack said calmly. "You seem to be rather blunt about it, all things considered."

"Call it genetic." Maria shrugged as the office door opened.

"Hey, kiddo. Bad news-oh." Bulldog blinked, then frowned at Jack. "Son, didn't you ever learn not to talk to strange girls?"

"That's a nice way to speak about your own daughter, old man." Maria rounded on him with an ease that suggested it was routine. "What's the bad news? You getting suggestions about retiring again yet?"

"Nah, those've eased up ever since I beat the tar out of Sirius." Bulldog shook his head. "Lousy excuse for a Commander anyways. No, the bad news is I'm not gonna be coming home tonight. The Unit's being deployed. Effective immediately." He grinned savagely at Jack. "Hear that, son? Your first time's gonna be a _big_ one. Hope you've got your own first-aid kit."

"The whole Unit's being sent out?" Maria frowned. "Man, I miss all the good stuff. I can't believe it's still two more years."

"No, it's not two more years, and you're gonna keep missing the 'good stuff,' because you are _not_ going to be joining the Hunters." Bulldog rolled his eyes, then seemed to remember Jack was still there. "What are you standing there for, son? I'll put the announcement out in a minute soon as I clear a few things up here. Go on and get packed. Meet the rest of the unit up at the airfield in twenty minutes. We're shipping out of here via airship, and we're not gonna be back for a week or so. Get goin', already!"

"Sir." Jack nodded quickly and tore off before either of them could turn on him. "Genetics, huh? No kidding there..." Shaking his head, he headed back to his quarters.

"Hey, Jack." Tommy greeted him over the top of a comic book as he entered. "Where's the fire, huh?"

"Attention, all Hunters in the 13th Unit." Bulldog's voice echoed through the room a moment later. "Be packed for a week and be out in the airfield in eighteen minutes. We will be deployed via hovertransport to Europe immediately; I will give you your briefing once everybody has arrived. Prepare for some real action this time, fellas."

"Question retracted." Tommy covered his face. "Aw, shit. The whole Unit? This is gonna be one hell of a week."

"No kidding." Jack shook his head. "Why would they send out all of us?"

"My guess is _real_ bad news." Tommy shook his head. "As in,_ lots _of Mavericks. Nah, the real question is, why _us?_ We almost _never_ get picked to deal with the big jobs. And Europe? Reploids could just warp there instead of taking the slow way. Something stinks here, and it ain't our socks."

"Good points. All of them." Jack shook his head. "Did you know Bulldog had a daughter?"

"So you met Bloody Maria, huh?" Tommy grinned suddenly. "You ain't hurt. She must've liked you."

"People keep saying that other people must like me." Jack muttered. "And yet it never seems that way to me."

"Most new guys come away from saying hi to her with a bloody nose at least." Tommy explained. "Don't tell Bulldog I said this, but she's a shoe-in for Mutt Unit once she's out of school. He's dead against it, of course, but that didn't stop him teaching her everything she knows. Really should have thought that one out better, I've always figured."

"Maybe." Jack shook his head; he didn't really have an opinion on the girl yet, and didn't feel like developing one at the moment. "We should probably head up."

"Yeah." Tommy shouldered his bag. "Trust me, you do _not_ want to be late for _this_ appointment. Let's hustle."

Jack was lucky that he had Tommy with him; he never would have been able to find his way out to the airfield behind the base alone. As it was, they were nearly the last ones there, though not quite; a few others trailed in after them, Carlyle and Glass sauntering in exactly eighteen minutes after Bulldog had made the announcement.

"Yes, I am sure that we can handle this." Bulldog was barking on a communicator. "We are Hunters, Sirius, just like your boys are. Or are you forgetting our little discussion on that matter a few months back? Yeah. Yeah. Yeah, I _know_, but the thing is, these folks _want_ us. So we're going, and we will handle the problem. Or are you gonna actually tell me you think we can't instead of trying to be mister subtle? Yeah, that's what I thought. Same to you. Have fun in the training room." He shut off the line and scowled. "Ass-sniffing canid. All right, folks. I'm guessing you have some questions."

"Are we going to be fighting a large number of Mavericks, sir?" It was Chloe who asked the question, and all eyes were on Bulldog, awaiting his answer.

"I'm afraid that's fairly likely." Bulldog shook his head. "Allow me to explain. The civilians who find themselves believing there are Mavericks in the area are the holy men of St. Cluny's monastery in England. Isolated from civilization as they are, they're more than slightly behind the times. In particular, they are extremely uncomfortable in the presence of reploids, and so when the father called up MHHQ, he requested that humans be sent if possible."

"So are us odd cards out going to get called soulless monstrosities?" Kit raised her hand. "Not that I mind, but it'd be nice to know what to expect."

"I doubt it. The father didn't seem the type." Bulldog shook his head. "Still, takes all kinds, even in a monastery. You're all tough kids. Just put up with it if they do, and focus on the job at hand. Sooner we kill the bastards, sooner we get to come back."

"Damn straight." Ira chimed in. "So how many heads do have to bust?"

"That's the problem." Bulldog said with a scowl. "We don't know. The monks think the Mavericks are camped near the monastery, but they don't know where, and they haven't wanted to go looking, for obvious reasons. What we know is that suspicious reploids have been sighted in the area for about a week now, and when several of the monks attempted to reach the nearest town in a truck, they never arrived. Disappeared without a trace. The Mavericks haven't made contact yet, but the monks are understandably worried."

"I'd call the Hunters myself, if I was them." Chloe agreed. "Sounds like a medium-sized group. Probably a bunch of guys who decided they all hated humans one day together and decided to go out and play some games. They're toying with those men."

"Which is, as a matter of fact, exactly where we come in." Bulldog smiled grimly. "Too bad for them, we play pretty rough. It'll take us about twelve hours to arrive, so get some sleep on the flight. As soon as we get there, we're going to get right to work. Now let's move."

"Hey, kid." Ira said as he passed Jack. "Will's filled out and everything, right?"

"Of course. First person to break your face gets everything." Jack replied without missing a beat.

"You little bastard." The taller Hunter said cheerfully. "Now I have to actually hope you _don't_ die. _That's_ never happened before. Well played."

"Told you this one had potential." Kit smiled. "Ready for some action, hotshot?"

"Would I be here if I wasn't?" Jack raised an eyebrow.

"Sure." She shrugged. "At least, some guys would. Not you, though, fair enough. Well then, we'll see if you've got it where it counts." She paused, then spoke again. "Good luck."

"Man, I gotta get off the booze." Jack said to nobody in particular. "I'm hearing shit."

"Get used to it." Tommy muttered as they took their seats. "If there's one thing you better expect in the Hunters, it's shit."

"You know, somebody could really take that the wrong way." Jack shook his head and closed his eyes, deciding to take Bulldog's suggestion of sleep to heart.

***

Father Martin was a much younger man than Jack had expected, or at least younger-looking. At the least, his face was unlined and his nervous smile still youthful, though his ponytail at least began to show signs of turning grey.

"Commander Randolph Hayes of the 13th Maverick Hunter Unit, reporting!" Bulldog greeted the father sharply as the Hunters all lined up in the abbey's courtyard. "With your permission, sir, my men will immediately secure the area and prepare for a possible attack."

"Yes, I suppose it is rather hard to disguise those vehicles coming in." Martin admitted. "Very well, Commander Hayes. Do as you see fit. I only ask that you protect us from this threat."

"You heard the father, boys and girls." Bulldog turned back to them. "We're here to protect, and we're gonna damn well do it! I want four patrols of two Hunters heading out to scout the area, right now. Tigatron and Airrazor, Majere and Brightblade, Glass and Carlyle, Corwin and Brand! The rest of you, get to work in this building! Barricade all doors and windows save the front entrance first thing-we can take 'em off if we need to, if slash when we get the chance to survey the premises! For now, assume the enemy has seen us arrive and is currently en route to attack before we get the chance to set ourselves up! Let's move, people!"

"That very likely to happen?" Another priest quietly asked Jack, startling him. Turning around, he beheld a hulk nearly seven feet tall, with short-cropped blonde hair. He looked more like Bulldog's younger brother than a monk.

"I don't think so, but then I'm new to the Hunters, so that probably doesn't count for much." Jack admitted. "Bulldog knows what he's doing, though, so I'd better listen to him."

"Yeah, that fella's been in the business a long time. You can tell." The monk indicated a pile of supplies for constructing the barricades. "Father Martin had us put all this together. I'm guessing your Commander told him to have it ready when you boys arrived. I'm Alexander, by the way."

"So you're brother Alexander." Chloe said, joining them. "The abbot said I should talk to you about what the rest of the monks should be doing. I'm Chloe Yatsune, and this is Jack Long. You were asking him something?"

"He wanted to know how likely it really was that we'd be under attack any moment here." Jack explained.

"Aha. Not much, really, but the Commander likes to be prepared." Chloe shook her head. "No, I doubt that will happen, with this kind of Maverick behavior. What you have to realize is that less than half of Mavericks are actually infected with the Virus. The majority are either just the reploid equivalents of petty criminals, or those who put up with too much crap in their lives until one day they just fly off the handle. You know what a hunting party is, right?"

"Yup." Alexander nodded, then saw Jack's puzzled look. "That's when a bunch of guys go out into the woods, get drunk, and shoot the wildlife for the fun of it. It's been outlawed most places what with the condition the environment's in, but that doesn't stop some people."

"Right. Every once in a while, some Mavericks have the bright idea to do that, except with humans instead." Chloe kept talking while directing other Hunters with hand gestures. Not wanting to look lazy, Jack began working on a nearby window while still listening in. "The ones who think of it tend not to be examples of great intelligence, though, so a surprising amount of the time, they never even consider that their prey would call in the Maverick Hunters if they take too long about it. Which we prefer, as it turns out. Give us a stupid Maverick any day."

"So basically, they figured they'd have a nice slow kill they could be taking their time with and enjoying. Now suddenly, the cavalry's in the way and it's plenty big and mean." Alexander nodded. "Yeah, I suppose that wouldn't be the sort of thing to inspire an attack."

"Exactly. My money says that they'll be freaking out and arguing. That's why the Commander sent out scouts right away. He wants to try and track them down." Chloe continued. "With luck, they'll be too busy yelling at each other to come to a decision. If the scouts find them, then, we'll all be able to come down on them like a ton of bricks, and that'll be that."

"I'll be hoping it's that simple, then." Alexander smiled grimly. "I'm sure it won't surprise you to know most of the fellas here aren't exactly handy in a fight."

"You'd be surprised what some civilians can do when it's life-or-death, but it's best not to rely on that, yeah." Chloe gave him a look. "I'm guessing you might have had an interesting life before you came here, though. I won't ask questions, but if we've got a couple spare magrifles, would you be comfortable with one? Just in case?"

"I'd say I can handle just in case." Alexander agreed. "I'll tell the others not to get too worried, then."

"One more thing, first, if you don't mind." Chloe raised an eyebrow. "Most of the 13th are humans, which is why we got called in for this one, but we do have a few reploids. Are there going to be any problems with that?"

"I'd like to say no. Most of the folks here just prefer not to think about it, really." Alexander sighed. "But there's a few of the sort you're thinking of, and to make matters worse, a pair of them were the ones who disappeared while driving the truck. Brother Creed's the most prominent." He inclined his head towards a walltop, where a stern, long-faced old monk was glaring down at the Hunters with obvious dislike. Several other monks and nuns were there as well. "You'll probably want to avoid him and those with him. Humans and reploids both."

"We'll keep that in mind." Chloe said, then looked up, frowning, as the clouds overhead began to darken. "That might be a bad sign."

"Could be." Alexander stared up as well. "Snow season. If we get a blizzard in, this could be turning ugly."

"Uglier." Chloe shook her head. "Chances of getting anybody out of here through that?"

"Not happening, with the roads around here. Even with the other truck still here." Alexander said grimly. "Chances of the buggers hitting us in that?"

"Not happening, unless they're too stupid to _live._" Chloe chuckled a little. "Reploids are tougher than humans, but not that much. We'll be able to set up more than barricades, at least."

At that point, Jack's work took him too far away from the conversation to continue listening in. He simply continued to erect barricades until he started running across others. While looking around for more to do, he heard a commotion, and returned to the courtyard to find most of the rest of the Unit clustered around a dead insect reploid, apparently brought in by Kit and Ira, who were looking oddly grim. The corpse seemed to be some sort of beetle, and half of his entire head had been savagely ripped off.

"Looks like scouting was pretty successful." Tommy joined him. "Wonder why they don't look happy about it, though."

"All right, coming through." Bulldog growled, stomping through the crowds. "What do we have here-what the _fuck?_" He froze, staring at the corpse. "You've gotta be kidding me. That's goddamn _Bank Robbery Beetle_. What's _his_ ass doing all the way here?"

"Bank Robbery Beetle?" Jack repeated quietly, tone disbelieving. "Nah. Seriously?"

"Don't ask me, man." Tommy replied, just as low and just as skeptical. "Before my time."

"It's Bankie, all right. Or _was_, anyways." Kit agreed. "You're not gonna like the answer to that question, though, boss. Whatever it is. We don't know either, but whatever it is, it's bad."

"A two-bit like Bankie?" Bulldog's eyes were still locked on the dead Maverick. "I'd vote Sigma for president before I took _him_ seriously. Only thing that could make him a threat would be if..." He trailed off, eyes widening again. "Aw, fuck us in the ass with a chainsaw."

"Probably gonna happen. You guessed it." Ira said, for once not a trace of sardonic amusement in his voice. "When Bankie here actually put up a fight, we did a scan as soon as we got him back here, and it came up positive. Infected. We've got _real_ Mavericks on our asses now. Sigma-class."

"We're all gonna die, aren't we." Jack asked his friend as the news spread through the startled Hunters.

"Ohhhhh yeah. We're gonna die _big_ time." Tommy shook his head.

***

Several hours had passed, surprisingly calmly. After the barricades, the 13th had set up heavy weapons indoors; they had had to retreat from the courtyard when the blizzard had struck. It was still raging outside, promising many feet of snow when it finally broke. For now, though, they had done all they could, and aside from those on watch, they were resting up. Jack was waiting for dinner to be ready when Bulldog walked into the room.

"Holding up okay, son?" The old man greeted him calmly. "Ain't getting cold feet, are you?"

"Hardly." Jack shook his head. "If I die, that's it. I don't plan on it, though."

"Good man." Bulldog nodded. "I've seen better situations than this, but I've seen worse, too. We'll lose some, but I figure in the end we should be able to come out on top."

"I'll take your word for it." Jack smiled slightly himself. "I'm surprised the Hunters didn't try pulling us out when they heard this was an Infected case."

"Would have if they could." Bulldog admitted. "And it'd kill me to have to agree with 'em. But that ain't happening. Blizzard means our ride in ain't getting us out, let alone the monks. As for reinforcements, seems soon as we arrived, somebody put up an EM barrier around this place."

"Bad sign." Jack dropped the smile. An electromagnetic barrier blocked reploids and other robots from warping through it, either in or out. The only way to destroy it was to find the generator and smash it. "Combine that with the fact that those two brought in an old friend of yours, and an ugly picture starts to present itself."

"A trap." Bulldog agreed. "Might even have picked this place on purpose, knowing we'd be the ones called in. Bankie'd been busted by my unit more than a couple times. Smart money says there's some more familiar faces out there too. They couldn't have figured on this blizzard, though, so we get more time to set up than they wanted. Soon as it's over, that's when the fun'll start. Be ready for it, son... dammit, what's going on now?" He growled, hearing the sounds of an argument from outside.

"Never a dull moment." Jack muttered, following Bulldog out. In the hall, a couple of the Hunters were arguing with several monks, including the one who had been pointed out as Brother Creed.

"Hey, commander!" A Hunter-Jack thought his name was Rolf-turned to Bulldog, outraged. "This holy shit says he won't let us bury Bankie or the others we kill in here!"

"Is that a fact?" Bulldog turned on Creed, looking deceptively calm. "Well, I don't wanna make an unfair judgment. Why don't you tell me your side of the story, brother?"

"Certainly." Creed locked eyes with Bulldog, unafraid. "It is rather simple. This is holy ground, and burial here is for those whose souls will find peace in the afterlife. Reploids are soulless abominations. They are not truly alive, and so they cannot truly be said to be dead. I will not tolerate having my brothers share their place of rest with such accursed creations. Should any of your human Hunters fall in battle, they will be allowed burial, but any of your reploids will be barred, and of course Mavericks are out of the question."

"I see." Bulldog nodded calmly, then reached out and grabbed the offensive monk by the neck, hauling him into the air. "That's not happening, holy shit. Let me tell you how it's going to go, instead. When we're done here, everybody who's dead gets buried by those of my boys and girls still standing. You don't have to help out of you don't want to. But if you try and get in our way, I'm gonna personally break a limb every time you do. Don't even _ask_ me what happens if I find out you messed with the graves after we leave, and believe me, I _will _know." He dropped Creed on his ass, ignoring the shocked stares of the other monks. "We clear?"

"You brute." Creed hissed, backing away quickly before standing again. "The abbot will hear of this!"

"That a fact? Go right ahead. Tell ol' father Martin how you're treating the fellas who came here and are gonna risk our asses to save yours." Bulldog spat on the floor. "And you're damn right I'm a brute. Same kind who probably stuffed you in lockers when you were a kid. I'm _still_ the only thing keeping you alive right now. And you wanna know the best part? I'm a human, so I can beat the crap out of you and get nothing more than an A&B charge, and I've dodged those a hundred times. Whereas a reploid Hunter'd get labeled Maverick for it. Ain't that a hoot? You have a nice day now, hear?" Turning, he nodded at Jack, and the two of them left along with the other Hunters.

"Nice job, chief." Rolf, or whatever his name was, grinned at Bulldog, and his female companion-Jenny?-did so as well. "Think he'll give us any more trouble?"

"Who knows?" Bulldog shrugged. "Wimps like that tend to be big men until somebody shuts 'em down. On the other hand, you never know when one of 'em might turn out to be a mongoose in a corner. Buddy boy did look a bit like some of the guys I've trounced back in the Hunters, and they're still givin' me grief from a safe distance. Keep an eye out."

"Gotcha, boss." Jenny and Rolf waved and headed off, leaving Jack alone with Bulldog.

"Go ahead, son." Bulldog said after they were gone. "Ask me why I went that far."

"It's not just because of the reploids in this unit, is it?" Jack asked after a moment. "You were going to rough him up as soon as you heard about Bankie. Why is that such a big deal? Him and the others... they're Mavericks, right? Enemies. They'll kill some of us."

"Damn straight." Bulldog agreed. "Thing is, see... there's Mavericks, and then there's _Mavericks._ Most of the guys we deal with, they made their choices. Especially if they kill humans, they're scum, and we put 'em down. Simple as that. But when they get infected..." He shook his head. "They're gone. Worse than dead. Guys would wouldn't harm a fly turn into bloodthirsty killers. Bankie was a _pacifist_, son. One reason we kept nailing him, another being that he was about as sharp as a bowling ball. But when the Virus gets you, who you were is dead, and worse than dead."

"You pity them, don't you." Jack realized quietly.

"Other Hunter units tell you in training how they want you to deal with infected." Bulldog kept talking, looking away, as if he hadn't heard. "They say not to meet their eyes when you kill 'em, because you're killing somebody who used to be a reploid just like you, before the virus got 'em. See, a lot of the time when they die, the Virus jumps ship, and they get a couple seconds turned back before they go. The rest of the Hunters say if you watch 'em die, it'll get to you, remembering who they used to be, and you won't be able to do it any more."

"Mutt Unit does it differently, then?" Jack asked, and this time Bulldog turned to meet his gaze.

"If you live, try it." The old man told him gravely. "When we kill those ugly fuckers out there, if you get one, look him right in the face when he dies. Look at that face they'd tell you not to remember. You do it right, and he'll go too quick to say thank you, but he won't have to. You'll know, if you're looking." He clapped Jack on the shoulder. "Go get some food and some sleep, kid, and don't forget when you're on watch. If this storm breaks tomorrow, be ready."

"Who was he?" Jack asked as his Commander turned away. "Bankie?"

"Real name was Fast Eddie." Bulldog said after a moment. "Used to work at the racetracks before turning to a life of crime. Got mixed up with a bad gang; that was how he pulled his first bank job. Actually ended up on our side for that one, since he stopped some of his new friends from taking out hostages. Got a reduced sentence for that, but even after he got out, nobody'd hire a reploid with a record, so he went back to the banks and started calling himself that. Never actually pulled it off without being nailed. Disappeared a few months back; we just figured he'd ditched his identity to try going straight. Why do you ask?"

"Seemed like I should know, is all." Jack shrugged. "Not sure why, but I wanted to."

"Feelings like that, you wanna pay attention to." Bulldog agreed, walking off again. This time, Jack left as well, to go check if the monks and nuns in the abbey's kitchen had dinner ready for them yet.

***

2 AM was a lousy time to have the watch, Jack decided after only ten minutes. Even if he hadn't really adjusted to the time zone differential, it was still far from pleasant being awoken only to spend several hours sitting awake watching the abbey's front gate, along with several other Hunters, none of which felt like talking. At least, until Kit and Ira walked over and sat down next to him.

"Word says this blizzard's going to be short and sweet." Kit opened the conversation after a moment. "Should be over tomorrow sometime in the morning. Once it is, that's when the fun will probably start."

"Us old timers will try and take as many as we can." Ira continued. "But if we've got the right idea about this, there'll still be plenty to go after the rookies, including yourself. It's gonna be do or die time, kid. Be ready for it."

"I'm trying." Jack agreed, puzzled. "What's up? You're not giving me shit all of a sudden. Did you hit your heads?"

"You wish." Ira chuckled. "Nah, kid. We're just out of time to screw around, is all. Might surprise you that we don't _want_ you dead. Just the opposite."

"You've got the stuff pros are made of. That's why we kind of like you." Kit explained. "But we don't _know._ Not for sure. We won't until tomorrow. If you live out this one, you're in. If you don't..." She shrugged. "We'll bring flowers."

"I don't get you two." Jack said bluntly. If he was going to die, there was no sense in holding back. "You say you like me one moment, then treat me like crap the next. You tell me I'll get killed, but you don't want me to, and yet you won't do anything to stop it if you see it happening. You call yourselves headcases, but it doesn't bother you. One minute you're flirting, the next it's threats of kneecapping. Everybody else here seems to get you but me. What am I missing here?"

Neither of them spoke for several moments. They simply sat there, listening to the blizzard rage outside, and Jack did too. Just as he was starting to grow afraid that he had gone too far, Kit spoke again, gray eyes locked on his. "You really want to know?"

"Yeah." Jack admitted. "I would."

"Tell him." Kit said to Ira, standing. "Go ahead." Without another word, she walked off, stopping once she was out of earshot to sit back down, holding her legs close to her.

"All right, kid." Ira sighed, scratching his chin. "You want to know what our deal is? Sure. I'll tell you a goddamn fairy tale. Once upon a time, there was a reploid girl named Kitsune. She was built in the dead of night, after the factory that made her was supposed to be closed, by workers who had taken bribes and a boss who had taken bigger ones. She and her fifteen sisters were built off the record, and were shipped away as soon as they were activated. Sixteen girls, all very pretty., each one looking almost human but not quite in a different way."

"I get what you're implying." Jack's eyes narrowed. "You hear rumors about that sort of thing every so often."

"Cops come down on it like a ton of bricks when they catch it. Problem is, they usually don't." Ira continued. "They sure didn't this time. Kitsune quickly learned that the world was shit. It was a good day when she was allowed out of her room at all. Even when she did, nobody treated her and her sisters like anything more than tools, devices. Things. Except for one bouncer. He was different; he would talk to them, treat them as kindly as he could. When the customers got too nasty, he'd get them out of there. Never took 'free samples' from them, like some of the other employees did, either."

"I think I see where this is going." Jack guessed. "One day, he decided-"

"Wrong." Ira cut him off, closing his eyes. "Dead wrong. He was as good to them as he could be, yeah. But he didn't stop it. At all. He wanted to keep his job, see. So he watched, and did nothing. Years went past. Four of the girls eventually died, roughed up too much, either by customers or staff. Eventually, the rest decided they'd had enough. They went Maverick, went on a killing spree. Not just in the whorehouse; once they were done there, they went outside and kept going on innocent bystanders until the Hunters came and wiped them out."

"All except Kitsune, right?" Jack tried again.

"Bingo." Ira agreed. "She was the only one who didn't join in on the slaughterfest. All she did was tell them not to hurt that one bouncer, and because she was their sister and he had been a good guy, they listened. But she didn't stop them from killing everybody else they saw. She watched, and did nothing. When the Hunters arrived on the scene after stopping the rampage, they found Kitsune and the bouncer there in the wreckage. Security camera footage confirmed that she wasn't a Maverick, so she was let go."

"This bouncer." Jack met his eyes, a dull green. For the first time, he really looked at Ira Glass, something he'd been unconsciously avoiding ever since taking a dislike to him. He was lean and pale, had probably been skinny before putting on as much muscle as he could. His hair was black and curly, his face unshaven; a couple scars on his features, not enough to be hideous. The fedora seemed to be his only concession to vanity. "Who was he?"

"Just some guy who'd spent his life on the streets until that point." Ira looked back, unflinching. "Never made it through high school, never had any job that wasn't shit. No big deal. But he'd known somebody with the name Carlyle, in the past. So when Kitsune wanted to change her name, he offered a suggestion, and she liked it. The incident had somewhat soured his taste for the kinds of jobs he'd kept beforehand, though. The two of them didn't have anywhere to go. No lives, no goals, nothing to do and nothing to believe in. And so, they decided to join the Maverick Hunters." He shrugged. "The end. Up to you whether it's a happy ending or not."

"Don't tell that fairy tale to any kids." Jack looked back at Kit, still sitting there, facing away from them. "Have you found any of those things yet?"

"Can't say we have." Ira shook his head. "Naw, kid. Other people have good reasons for being in Mutt Unit. Bulldog, Chloe, Davey... all of 'em. You want to know why the two of us are in the Hunters? We're just waiting for the day we get unlucky, and die. That's all there is to it. Don't use _us_ as role models, Jackie boy. We're the kind of burned-out wrecks your parents should have told you to stay away from. If you had any, that is. Which explains it all, now that I think about it."

"Even now that I know what you've been through, you'll still an asshole." Jack snorted, and Ira laughed.

"Damn straight, kid! Never pretended to be anything but!" He sobered after a moment. "Yeah, I'm an asshole. And she's probably nuts. Between the two of us, though, we manage to make it work. Don't feel bad for us, Jackie. We'll kick your ass if you do." He clapped Jack on the shoulder as he stood. "Just concentrate on living through tomorrow. That's what's really important. Everything else is secondary. Live first, and then decide what you're going to do with your life after that. You've got better chances than a pair of screwups like us on the second part, at least. Don't blow it."

The big question, whether they were really lovers, hovered on Jack's mind for a moment as Ira left him, but he quashed it. If none of the other Hunters had asked, he wasn't going to. It was enough to watch him walk over to Kit, speak for a moment, then help her to her feet before the two of them walked off together. In that moment, the question somehow became academic, in a way he knew without actually understanding. Perhaps someday, he thought, he would.

Tommy was the next to join him, after a while. They spoke for a bit, about people's pasts, about the Irish Republican Army and about how some unlucky kids got mixed up in it at far too early an age. About how war could destroy everything you believed in, and how you could start your life over once you were out of it, going across to the other side of the world. Just because scars like the one on Tommy's face, making him look like half of it below one eye had started to melt off for a second before stopping, were forever didn't mean you had to keep living the way you had gotten them.

Chloe came, and told him about how the first Uprising had broken her down and built her back up again, stronger than before. Davey, a former sailor with a kind heart under a frightening appearance, recounted a simple story about surviving a terrible accident at sea. Rolf had lived on his family's farm until the Mavericks came, and even though they somehow managed to survive, he knew it would never be the same. Jenny was a cop who'd survived having the rest of her unit massacred when an investigation out in the boonies had turned into a nightmare.

All the Hunters of Mutt Unit, one by one, came to speak with Jack and wish him luck. For his part, he listened to all of them, and made sure to remember what they told him. By the time his shift ended, everybody except Bulldog had stopped by. He considered waiting for him, but decided against it. Instead, he returned to the cot the brothers had given him, next to where Tommy was already snoring.

Eventually, he drifted off, listening to the blizzard and waiting for tomorrow, when some of those stories would end forever.

***

All the Hunters in Mutt Unit were gathered when the blizzard broke. Armed and armored, fed by the monks and nuns, they waited in the halls as the last of the snowfall dissipated, leaving the sun to shine brightly down upon a field of white. Bulldog, massive in his armor and now wielding a beam polearm of some sort, nodded at them and led them out onto the walltops.

"That's definitely not standard issue." Jack whispered to Tommy, indicating their leader's weapon.

"A present from Doc Cain, I hear." Tommy murmured back. "For negotiating a particularly nasty hostage incident without any civilian casualties. And by negotiating, I mean tearing some skulls off."

No more words were exchanged as they filed out, standing in line and daring the enemy to come. It was ballsy, and possibly foolish if there were snipers, but Bulldog had figured that this enemy would respond to the challenge. He was right. From a grove of trees, one by one, Mavericks walked out, silent and grim. No threats were announced, no curses shouted. Everybody there knew what would happen.

"Looks like we got some real familiar faces here, folks." Bulldog broke the silence, yelling loud enough for the Mavericks to hear. "You've all come up in the world, haven't you? Big damn Mavericks. The real thing. Wouldn't have figured any of you to go that far. I'm disappointed in you, fellas... well, most of you."

"I assume that was directed at me." The first one out called back. Easily the largest reploid there, he was a gigantic hulk of a raccoon, topping ten feet and almost as wide. Every inch of his body bristled with fearsome machinery. "Been a long time, Bulldog."

"You're right." Bulldog agreed. "Should have hunted you down and finished you off a long time ago. Roadkill Raccoon, you murdering piece of shit. You were rotten to the core even without the virus. Why am I not surprised that you put this one together."

"You say the nicest things about me." The brute chuckled. "Sounds like a compliment to me, anyways. Did you ever end up finding 'em all? I must have poured cement in more than a hundred places around the city before you caught on. And then you let me get away, even. Real smooth there. You're wrong about one thing, though. I was just the first guy picked up for this little party. The real mastermind's a good buddy of mine."

"That a fact? Should have figured." Bulldog narrowed his eyes. "You never were the brightest bulb around, Raccoon. Then again, I don't see anybody here who I'd call a genius either. Fill me in, huh?"

"Perhaps you're not looking hard enough, Commander Hayes." One more Maverick walked out of the trees, and instantly, Mutt Unit exploded. Howling curses and insults, mostly involving the moniker 'Shitfire,' they roared at the enemy as he calmly joined Raccoon. Next to his partner's massive bulk, his short, thin form looked even more undersized, a red and blue reptile with huge eyes and long, floppy limbs. "Please, my former comrades. It's 'Spitfire Salamander.'"

"Shitfire, you little bastard!" Kit screamed. "Zero should have ripped your skull off and rammed it so far up your ass it'd come back out the stump!"

"My removal from the Hunters was hardly a fair thing. I doubt that he would have been able to justify that measure to the government." Spitfire sneered.

"Fair's for carnies!" Ira yelled. "You started more fights with the other Hunters than you did with Mavericks, dumbass! Hell, you thought it was a good idea to try and punch out _Zero_ when he chewed you out! You're too stupid to _breathe_, Shitfire!"

"Then perhaps it's a good thing it's not required, unlike _some_ species." Spitfire sniffed disdainfully. "It's unsurprising that you feel this way; after all, you were the greatest of my tormentors during my time in the Hunters. Hence why I targeted you for my little scheme."

"So you went out and hunted down Sigma, so he could give you what you signed on to stop." Chloe's voice was calmer than the others, but still burned with just as much anger. "Then you collected anybody else who you thought might have a grudge against us and turned them infected, all for some stupid revenge plan. You're a four-star fucker, Shitfire."

"I agree with my new friend Raccoon. Your opinion of me as such is quite the compliment." Spitfire smirked. "So then, since we have exchanged pleasantries, shall we get on with what we all came here for?"

"Hold on." Bulldog raised his hand. "This is about us, right? Payback and all that. So you've got nothing against the actual humans here. Let 'em go, Spitfire. If being a Hunter ever meant anything to you, let the humans leave, and then we can get down to the party."

"Perhaps." Salamander stroked his chin. "Perhaps. What say you, Roadkill?"

"Sure." Raccoon chuckled. "Go ahead, Bulldog. Send the meatsacks out. We'll let 'em go."

"You heard the men!" Bulldog yelled, louder than anybody else had been. "Get goin'!"

Below, the gates open, and one of the monastery's hoverbuses trundled out, piloted by a grim-faced monk. Slowly, it moved down the road, and the Mavericks obligingly stepped away on both sides, allowing it to go past.

"You're getting senile, Bulldog." Raccoon laughed again. "Kill 'em!"

As soon as he had given the order, the bus exploded.

"And you're still a dumbass if you thought we'd play nice!" Bulldog howled, and the Hunters moved, kicking a massive ramp over the side of the wall. It had been set up last night, by a couple of reploids who had worked in extreme weather before joining the Hunters, and the top end of it was anchored to the walltop. One of those same reploids, a humanoid, had also volunteered to wear the monk's uniform and drive out the trick bus, teleporting back to join them a moment before the detonation. Now he arrived, shucking off the disguise and drawing his beam saber.

As the Mavericks below panicked, a good half-dozen of them taken out already by the explosion, the Hunters of Mutt Unit descended the ramp, dropping into their midst in only a few moments. About a third of them remained behind, the youngest and newest ones. As their elders engaged, they ran back, into the monastery and barricaded the door behind them, then spread out around, waiting for any break-ins.

Jack was stationed near where most of the priests and nuns had barricaded themselves. He and the three other newest were the second-to-last line of defense, the last being brother Alexander, two more monks and a nun who had agreed to take up magrifles for the cause, though they all hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Minutes dragged by, seeming like hours. Jack waited, along with Tommy and the others, none of them speaking, none of them moving. Dimly, they heard the sounds of the battle raging outside, slowly growing nearer, until finally, something burst through the barricaded window on one side of the hall. Instantly, all four trained their busters on it and began firing.

"Tch! Right into a bunch of them! I have no luck at all!" The Maverick whined, rolling away in a whirl of the massive brown cloak that covered his body. The effect of the garment was probably meant to look like a ghoul or reaper, but on his short, scrawny frame, the impression was more of a bum. As he landed, the cloak became translucent, and a moment later he vanished completely, cloth and Maverick both.

"Invisibility! Find it!" The senior Hunter, Morgan, yelled. They immediately began firing, combing the floor and then the air above. None of them hit, and none of the four thought of if the Maverick could climb walls or fly until it was too late.

A choking sound from Will drew all of their attention; he was bleeding from his neck, as the Maverick reappeared. A long, thin, multijointed arm ending in sharp metal claws protruded from his cloak now. It had neatly dipped into their comrade's throat from above, where his helmet left his face open, and ripped it out. Another limb was already moving to slash Tommy across the face, tearing at his jaw. Screaming unintelligibly, he fired into the Maverick with his buster even as he went down. With the last of his strength, Will did as well before gasping and dying.

"Ow... ow!" The Maverick yelped as Jack and Morgan both jumped back. Now that it was closer, they could see that the cloak was actually physically attached to his neck, part of his own body. "Man, this sucks. I wanted some easy kills." Drawing his limbs back into the covering, he vanished again.

"Dammit!" Morgan pulled a smoke grenade from his belt and threw it down. Pulling a pair of goggles down over his eyes, Jack was able to see the Maverick's shape approaching, and released a charged shot from his buster at his head.

"Yeouch! Little bastard!" The Maverick's shape flickered, and Jack's world became blood and pain as a claw plunged into his eye.

The room was red and white and flashing and spinning, as Jack fell to his knees. Somebody was screaming, and after a moment, he realized it was himself. Clutching the gory mess that was on one side of his face with his hand, he fell forward onto the floor. More pain followed, as the Maverick crushed his buster, and the fingers within, underfoot.

"That's what you get for screwing with Insurance Fraud Iguana!" The Maverick hissed. "Dammit, you hit my _eye!_ I'll do you nice and slow for that one, kid, once I finish off your buddy!" Grinding further into Jack's hand before he stepped off, he snarled as Morgan fired, and vanished once more.

The sounds of combat rang though Jack's ears, as his screams died down into moans. The pain, on the other hand, only grew sharper, more overwhelming, and the blood kept flowing. His remaining hand fell away from his face to scrabble helplessly at the floor, as he stared around, trying to see something, anything, of what was going on.

Tommy lying still, probably dead. Will, just as motionless, definitely dead. Himself, barely moving, probably dying. Morgan, fighting Iguana and losing. Lasting longer, but clearly coming out worse, despite the damage to Iguana's face. When he went down, Iguana would finish Jack off, then continue around the corner, unseen. With his ability, Alexander and the others wouldn't see him until it was too late. Then, all of the others would die as well.

Years later, there were many things Jack could have cited as the reason he got back up, forced himself to his feet. He could have said he didn't want to die just yet. He could have said he wanted to save the monks and nuns. He could have said he was trying to avenge Tommy. He could even have said that he just wanted to take the bastard with him. Any of those would have been respectable reasons. They would have been commendable.

The truth was, though, it wasn't any of those. What got him to pull his magpistol from his belt and lurch back to his feet, through the blood and the pain and the half-blindness, was the desire to not be killed by somebody with a name as stupid as _Insurance Fraud Iguana._ Somehow, despite knowing how ridiculous that was, he knew the rest of Mutt Unit would approve.

"God, finally." Iguana grumbled as Morgan went down, his chest armor torn open by the Maverick's claws. His head was exposed now, a blue-green reptile with a vague resemblance to Salamander, one eye charred and smoking from Jack's earlier shot. "Will you just die already? You're really starting to piss me off-_gnf!_."

Before he could strike the finishing blow, Jack tackled him bodily, forcing him down. As they tumbled down together, he slammed the magpistol's barrel into the damaged eye with as much strength as he could muster. Judging by Iguana's howl of pain, it was enough, and he pulled the trigger, again and again until the clip was empty. The bullets penetrated his skull fully, exiting through his mouth and cutting off the scream as they destroyed his vocal processor. Insurance Fraud Iguana and Jack Long hit the floor together, and only the latter rose once more after a moment.

"This is Morgan. We need backup, bad. One, maybe two dead, a third in seriously shitty shape. I'm pretty trashed too, but this nasty's gone. Might be more." Morgan was talking on his headset. His eyes turned to Jack. "You gonna live?"

"Gonna try." Jack choked out, then turned away and hauled himself over to the window. With Iguana gone, logic left his mind. Despite the danger, for some reason all he could think of was watching the rest of the fight, as much as possible. Reaching the opening, he lurched up onto it and lay there, staring out into the snow with his remaining eye. There, he saw the Hunters of Mutt Unit, fighting and dying and killing.

He saw Bulldog use a fearsome orange beam axe to split Spitfire Salamander in half from the shoulders down, then smash his skull before moving on to more enemies. He saw Kit and Ira tear Roadkill Raccoon apart, bit by bit and piece by piece, and the way they both smiled as they did it would haunt his nightmares for years afterwards, especially Kit. He saw Davey die fighting, fried by electricity, and still somehow managing to take his last foe with him. He saw Chloe save another Hunter's life by blocking the killing blow with her arm, and destroy the Maverick who did it in the same breath.

He never even knew it when he passed out, but he knew it when he awoke again, brother Alexander setting the bones in his hands. The red in his vision was gone; a bandage covered his missing eye now.

"Don't move, hero boy. You've done enough. The fighting's over. You won. They're all gone." Alexander boomed, smiling. "You did good."

"Tommy." Jack said quietly. "Where is he? Did he make it?"

"One o' the poor souls who was here died. The other..." Alexander shook his head. "Barely living, but there's not much hope. They're working on him elsewhere. He's got a chance, at least."

"Then he'll make it." Jack bluffed with much more bravado than he felt. "A chance is all guys in Mutt Unit need."

"That a fact." Alexander smiled. "Good. The other one's a ways away; I'll go tell 'im you're up. First, though... wondering if you could help me figure something out." He helped Jack to his feet, and led him over to Iguana's corpse.

The fallen Maverick apparently hadn't died immediately; there were words engraved in the stone, scratched there by his deadly claws. Without a voice, it was all he could do. There wasn't anything resembling a coherent message, just a jumbled mass of thanks, apologies and prayers, but the meaning behind it was clear enough.

"Other Hunter units tell you not to look a Maverick in the face when they die." Jack repeated Bulldog's words from the night before, slowly. "They say not to meet their eyes when you kill them, because you're killing somebody who used to be a reploid just like you, before the Virus got them. A lot of the time when they die, the Virus leaves them, and they get a couple seconds turned back before they go. If you do it right, they'll go too quick to say thank you, but they won't have to."

"We'll bury him. Him and the others." Alexander promised after a moment. "I'll discuss it with brother Creed myself if I have to. And we'll pray for their souls. Nobody's gonna tell _me_ that anybody who wrote that doesn't have one, and that's that."

"Mutt Unit appreciates your cooperation." Jack managed to say with a straight face before pitching forward, the darkness claiming him once more.

***

A month passed before Jack was back on his feet. Even with modern medical technology, losing an eye was no small injury, and the cybernetic replacement took some getting used to. The hand promised to be even more irritating; that had to heal up the old-fashioned way, and Bulldog refused to put him back on active duty until it was completely done. Still, the day his new eye was judged okay for him to leave med bay was one he looked forward to.

A full third of Mutt Unit had perished in the battle of the abbey, several of the best among them. Brother Alexander and Father Martin had been true to their word; the fallen were buried there, Hunter and Maverick alike, save for Spitfire and Roadkill, whose bodies had been left where they lay. The survivors had returned home the same way they had come, as soon as Father Martin had finished the funeral ceremony. Apparently, none of them had had next of kin to be notified. Or perhaps Bulldog simply hadn't bothered.

Bulldog had been reamed out for the loses he had taken, but it seemed he had dealt with the criticism in his customary manner. At the least, he had kept his job, and stopped by to see Jack every few days to offer mixed insults and compliments. Kit and Ira were common visitors as well, and so was Chloe, though she was more subdued due to mourning Davey, whom she had been close to. The others in Mutt Unit came as well; true to their word, Jack was one of them now.

It was only on his last day in med bay, however, that he became reacquainted with a face that he had last seen before the battle.

"New eye looks good. Can't even tell, except for the scar." Maria said as a greeting, walking in like she owned the place. One of the medics started to walk over towards her, looking outraged, but was pulled aside hastily by a more experienced one. "Good choice leaving that. The rest of the Unit would have given you hell if you'd had them pretty you up."

"Thanks, I think." Jack looked up from a book Chloe had brought him. "Been a while. Bulldog still hasn't figured out a way to keep you out of here, I see."

"He knows the hell I'd give him if he did wouldn't be worth it." Maria explained bluntly. "Speaking of dad, hope you're not counting on him letting you keep sitting on your ass. He might not put you out in the field until your hand's good, but he'll throw you back in the training room as soon as you're out of here."

"I figured as much, actually, so I'm good." Jack shrugged, waiting a moment before speaking again. "Been to see Tommy?"

"Yeah, just before you." Maria nodded. "He's still out of it."

"Damn." Jack closed his eyes. Tommy had lived, but he had been comatose ever since, and showed no signs of stirring. The medics had replaced most of his jaw and were keeping him alive, but they could offer no estimates on when he would awaken, if he ever did. That, of course, didn't stop the members of Mutt Unit from having their own opinions. "Oh well. He'll be up before too much longer. He's better than I was."

"So was Davey." Maria reminded him. "And all the others who died. I'm gonna miss seeing him around here."

"I know." Jack looked back at her calmly. "But I've figured a few things out. If you're in the Hunters-any Unit, not just ours-you could die any time you go out, just by getting unlucky. As long as you accept that, then you just have to be able to deal with anything else. And when you die, hell, you signed up for it. Davey didn't have regrets. I'm sure of it. Neither did any of the others. Now I don't, either."

"You learn fast." Maria said, smiling. "That's a good survival trait. Looks like I'll be seeing you around more often."

"If Bulldog doesn't ship you off to the United States." Jack smirked.

"I'd come back. And make him regret it." Maria shrugged. "In the meantime, though, you get out of here today, right? How'd you feel about going out to get some dinner once you do?"

"That depends." Jack blinked. "Would Bulldog tear me a new asshole and break my back to shove my head into it if I said yes?"

"No, he'd only do that if we hit a bar instead." She explained coolly. "Personally, I think if you've got a good fake ID, it's a shame not to use it, but there's just no talking to him about that. Or if you were old, I guess, but you're definitely not that. Well?"

"All right, you're on." Jack chuckled, giving in. "Just as long as you don't make me pick you up at your place. I'm not _that_ willing to take your word on Bulldog's wrath."

"Why am I not surprised by this?" Maria bent over and wrote a phone number on his cast. "Meet me at Cagliostro's at eight. If you need directions, ask Chloe. See you there, tough guy." Grinning, she punched his shoulder and departed.

"I seem to be making a habit out of associating with violent women." Jack remarked to nobody in particular.

"You're in the 13th, mister Long. From what I understand, that's entirely customary." The head doctor, a humanoid reploid with the unfortunate name of Lifesaver, approached now that Maria was gone. "Granted, young miss Hayes there is not yet a member herself, but base gossip indicates that is only a matter of time."

"I'd put my money on it, that's for sure." Jack agreed. "Well, doc? Have there been a series of unfortunate events, or am I still getting out of here?"

"You look good to me, young man. Aside from your hand, but time's the only thing that can help that now. As long as you don't go off and do something stupid with it." The doctor gave him a stern look. "Do so, and I believe both me and your Commander will agree on the proper course of action, which has never happened before."

"No further information needed, trust me." Jack winced. "I'll be a good Hunter, doc. I won't even hit bad guys with the cast as a last resort if I lose all my weapons."

"Don't go making promises you won't be able to keep." Lifesaver snorted. "You're good to go, mister Long."

"Thanks, doc. I'll try not to wind up back in here any time soon." Jack immediately stood, waved and departed, assuming Lifesaver would take care of any necessary paperwork without his input.

As he walked down the halls, the other Hunters of Mutt Unit looked up, smiling and tossing off greetings, which he returned cheerfully. Glancing in a mirror, he chuckled lightly; the scar he had left over one eye was a nasty diagonal, and it made him instantly fit in with everybody else. That, more than his survival and his first kill, was inexplicably what really seemed to drive home the fact that he was a real Hunter now.

"Jackie! Get in here!" Bulldog yelled as he passed by the office.

"That my new name? Jackie?" Jack asked, raising an eyebrow, as he complied. "Not sure how I feel about that."

"Tough." Bulldog snorted. He had sustained only minor injuries in the battle, and was completely healed by now. "Lifesaver says you're back on your feet. Don't get any ideas about going out just yet, but don't slack off either. You remember how you were doing double time in the training room before we got shipped out? You can go right back to that now. Don't try and tell me you're a pro because you killed one scrub."

"Just the opposite." Jack agreed. "I got damn lucky, and he was dumb as shit. I lived, but that was all. If I want to live next time, even if it's not an Infected, I've got a long ways to go."

"Good man." Bulldog actually smiled, a completely different thing from the manic grin he usually favored. "I'm counting on you to stay alive, Jack. You gonna let me down?"

"Over my dead body, sir." Jack saluted.

"Real funny." Bulldog snorted. "All right, get back to where you were going. I got business to attend to." Standing, he accompanied Jack out of the office, then paused. "Hey. You know why I kept calling you son?"

"Because 'kid' is more played out?" Jack replied, not missing a beat.

"Bingo." Bulldog said, still smiling. "Now get." Turning, he walked off, and Jack resumed his pace in the opposite direction, towards the Unit lounge he had passed by on the first day. As he approached, he saw Chloe leaning against a wall, watching him.

"You look older than you did when you first came here." She said quietly. "Stronger. Wiser. You look like a Hunter now."

"This job does that to you, fast." Jack shrugged. "I'm used to it by now. You doing okay, Chloe? I'm sorry about Davey."

"You've said that a dozen times now." She informed him, smiling sadly. "I'll be fine. I'll remember Davey, and so will everybody else who knew him. You will, right?"

"Of course." Jack replied honestly. "Nobody remembers most fallen Hunters, except other Hunters. But that's the thing. We do."

"That's all he ever wanted." Chloe nodded. "Maybe one day, I'll I figure out why I'm still here, too. He always wanted me to." She waved and turned away, and Jack kept walking.

"Hey, Jackie!" Kit leaned out the door of the lounge as he approached, waving. "Come on in here! Hurry!"

"What's up?" Jack asked as he entered, brushing past Kit. Several other Hunters were in there as well, including Ira, Rolf and Jenny.

"New blood coming in!" Ira explained with an evil smirk. "Bulldog's off saying hi right now. A lot sooner than we expected after you."

"I was wondering where he went so fast." Jack sat down in an overstuffed armchair. "Let me guess. Bets are open on how long he lives?"

"Bingo." Kit leaned across Ira's shoulders, and the sight no longer made Jack have to turn away. "How about it? You in? Come on, be a man."

"I don't know." Jack hedged, joking. "Might not be appropriate, since I'll be rooming with the guy. Unless you're gonna tell me Tommy was in here when I first arrived."

"What do you think?" Rolf asked.

"Gee, I wonder." Jack made a theatrical thinking pose, and the other Hunters laughed. "All right. Twenty bucks says he croaks first time. Just don't make me be the one who leans out to tell him about it."

"Nah, I always get that job." Ira said cheerfully. "For some reason, playing the jerkass just seems to come natural to me."

"It's a mystery to me how that works, all right." Jack agreed, deadpan.

"While we're waiting, though..." Jenny smiled, passing him a beer. "You've all heard our stories, but nobody's heard yours. Mind sharing?"

"Well, we've got time to kill." Jack took the beer, conscious of every eye on him, and no longer caring. "All right, who here remembers the first Uprising?"


	6. To Serve And Protect: Part 1

**MEGA MAN X: FROM THE SIDELINES**

A Collaborative Collection

**To Serve and Protect: Part 1**

By Alexander 'RoyFokker99th' Musa

* * *

Los Angeles was at some point in the distant past considered to be the west coast equivalent to New York City. Some might have laughed and scoffed at the notion, but there was no denying that it had earned itself a colorful, varied history. As humanity nearly wiped itself from the pages of history with the final cataclysmic wars of the mid to late twenty first century, after near misses, half-steps, and other disasters, the City of Angels had been reduced to a shell of it's former glory twice over. Despite this, much like the dominant species of the speck of cosmic sand called Earth, Los Angeles refused to remain a mere footnote to human nature at its cruelest. Los Angeles now dominated over two thousand square miles of terrain. Some of the tallest buildings humans had ever constructed stood here. The Gem of the West Coast had never shined brighter. All of this, much like the rapid progress of humanity from the year 2117 onward, was made possible by highly advanced robotics pioneered by a mostly forgotten old man who, like much of humanity of his era, watched with despair as his children were sent off to die for senseless, violent conflict.

Reploids now stood alongside humans, for all intents and purposes nearly equals, unless design specifications called far beyond human limitations. The species and its artificial children had come so far, in spite of everything. Human, or Reploid weakness, or rather, their very nature, still scarred the world even now, and as always has been the nature of living things to seek more power and control over their surroundings, there would always exist people who would divine order from chaos.

A doctor named Cain, considered both savior and traitor all at once by those he served and those his creations damned to the void, made the Maverick Hunters, and they answered the call bravely, undermanned, under armed, but champions all the same. When the Hunters first started, they took any reploid willing to make the sacrifices to become the symbol of order, the representatives of the budding new race. Lead by Sigma, Cain's greatest creation, the Hunters fought, lived, died. Even when the unthinkable happened, even as Sigma himself fell from grace, as his plasma saber extinguished the life of his final victim at the Maverick Hunter HQ on June 4th, 2118, as his actions laid his entire race before a world hungry to send them all to the figurative gallows, the Hunters fought, lived, and died for nearly two decades. Reality was the proof of their success and sacrifice. Reploids still lived among Humans. They built cities like Los Angeles, protected always by those who took to the simple credo: To Serve and Protect.

***

_September 7, 2133_

_Little Tokyo, Los Angeles, California_

_MSWAT Underground Training Facility_

"Flash in five."

"Check."

"Check."

"Check!"

It was a familiar drill, one passed down for literally generations. Men of his family had done this in various points of history over the last hundred years, for either the military or as part of SWAT in New York, or like his father here in Los Angeles, twenty seven years before today, where Ricardo Sato, Sergeant now stood at the ready behind three reploid operatives outside of a passable representation of a military grade vault door that was already half opened, enough to allow all four operatives to pass through and into whatever awaited them on the other side.

Sato, Japanese-Mexican American, one hundred percent human, one of the rare few to actually be in the physical and mental condition to serve alongside his faster, stronger, arguably better, counterparts among reploids built for heavy manual labor, modified and enhanced for combat either in short, adrenaline soaked moments like now, or extended, epic conflicts that one could watch the holovids or read the books about. That they picked him from his precinct across this massive city was a point of pride, and vindication for all of his efforts in the last three years. At five nine, he was one of the shorter humans here, but like any of them, built tough through the intense training. They prided themselves on training as though they were preparing to join the SEALS or something else crazier. Considering the majority of co-workers and his potential adversaries, he had to push himself closer to being that fabled nearly perfect human specimen.

Mavericks were still a problem, just like every day crime was a problem across the world. Unlike human criminals, who had rights that extended well beyond the immediacy of their transgressions, Mavericks, Reploid criminals, were potentially far more dangerous than humans. Just the nature of their design. Negotiation was hardly a common occurrence; the world had suffered far too much at the hands of Sigma and the disasters that followed in his wake. Mavericks were Mavericks, and that was enough of a reason for most.

Mavericks could be anything as simple as a human-type reploid with a police-issue buster, or a much easier to acquire I-beam from a construction site, to a full on former Maverick Hunter. A simple mechaniloid, or a cold, calculating intellect with the ability to manipulate local atomic mass in such a way that a human being could be frozen solid, and failing that, could easily deal with anything between thirty or three hundred individually cataloged, analyzed threats with any number of projectile or melee weaponry, depending on their electronic brain's capacity for such operations. When the shit hit the fan, and it was inevitable that it would, you had exactly no time for a gentle approach, lest things turn Repliforce, as they said. Large-scale warfare was always something you strove to avoid. While it made for dramatic nightly news when the big name hunters from New Tokyo HQ fought desperate battles against organized foes, the truth was that the Maverick Problem was not entirely organized or of such a large scale, and the world was better for it.

For the purposes of this exercise, there were three wooden targets representing the tangos and twenty human hostages, played by reploid and human members of Los Angeles Maverick Hunter Special Weapons and Tactics. It was an exercise that promoted accuracy under duress, and Sato enjoyed being either the hostage or an entry man. He earned his fellow reploid and human comrades' trust with his skill behind a mag rifle, and he had implicit trust in them. In the past, SWAT units preferred weapons with high rates of fire and deadly accuracy, and for 'human trouble' this was still preferred. Mag rifles on humans was akin to hunting ants with hand grenades, but for Maverick hunting, if things went bad, Sato would be lucky to have one aimed shot, and he might be dead before working the bolt for a second.

The point man for the four-man cell was a reploid named Hilde. She was like the majority of Hunters across the world, a former civilian human type that decided that she would fight rather than simple remain a bystander, or victim. Underneath her tactical armor she looked as close to an average twenty something girl as a reploid could get, with unnatural platinum blond hair and glowing purple eyes, but this was a side of her rarely seen. She was more comfortable in armor. The joke behind the need to cover up, to protect herself, was that she'd formerly been a clothing store model, but she never talked about her past. It was hard to have much of one when you were only ten years past the date you were activated. Whatever she was previously, she was here now, and among the best in the world for this sort of thing.

"Flash, and Clear." Her cool voice echoed in the minds for her two reploid teammates, and her right hand came up and matched her words in older, simple hand signals to allow her human rearguard to prepare himself.

Her hand dropped down to a flashbang on her gear belt, and she pulled it free from its magnetic slot. Everything in MSWAT was designed for the quietest possible operation. No pins to be pulled and dropped for an alert maverick to discern what was just on the other side of an entry point. Sato was already moving forward with his teammates to prepare to burst straight into the room the moment the flash went off. MSWAT grenades were specially designed for reploid use primarily, taking advantage of the obvious advantages of reploid reflexes and thought; if she _willed_ the grenade to detonate, it would.

Microseconds after she lobbed in the flashbang, it went off. Even with the helmet on, Sato was momentarily shaken, but having been on the unprotected end of such treatment, he knew he was better off, and he'd never been put off his game enough to miss a step at this crucial point.

Hilde was already inside, number two behind and to her left, moving to that corner. Number three, moving right. Sato, at the door, big magrifle up and ready, over her right shoulder, eyes making a quick pan across the room, noting a second floor walkway, fourth tango target on it, not mentioned in the briefing with hostage. He was deafened by the sounds of buster cannons, sound suppressed to hide their building charges cutting loose, turning to ash three of the targets as he brought the heavy rifle up very slightly, sighting in on the 'tango', cross hairs resting just over the head of a fully human MSWAT member, the left eye of the 'maverick' dead center. One last adjustment. One squeeze.

The mag rifle Sato used was designed for anti material purposes. Detonating unexploded landmines, engine blocks on armored vehicles. Shells could be fired that could take out fixed wing or tilt rotor aircraft if they were placed properly, but in this case, what he had was simple anti armor. The velocity of any given round would be enough to literally decapitate a human if fired too close to their head, and on most human type reploids, similar, if not necessarily as messy results could ensue. His shot was one foot away from the target's head, and the flimsy wooden replica was shredded. The report of the gun sounded like a polite cough immediately followed by a high pitched wail as the slug exited the barrel at hypersonic velocities. The human 'hostage' shrieked out of genuine terror and dropped to the ground, holding his ears shut, complaining vociferously at the pain he was feeling. He was still alive, and Sato let out the breath he'd held on to.

"CLEAR LEFT!"

"CLEAR RIGHT!"

"CLEAR FRONT!"

"ALL CLEAR! Safeties on people!" Hilde tore off her helmet. "Clutch shot, Ricky!" She slung her weapon, giving the sniper a playful punch on the shoulder. Sato exhaled shakily, weapon already safe'd and shouldered. "Cool and accurate, like always. Didn't expect it, did you?"

"No...and Jesus, that was rough." He didn't hide his unease, didn't feel the need to play tough guy here. "Coulda killed him. Too close, Hilde, lots closer than I'd like."

"You didn't. Even if you hesitated, that's what me, Zak, and Mill are here for."

"You make it sound like I'm the third leg."

"Hardly. What if he was wearing plasma resistant armor? What if he was behind an e-field? Thats why we employ mag rifles, and that's why you're here, because you use one, and you're damn good, human."

"Thanks for saying so." A familiar grin took its place on his face. "Not that I need to be reminded."

Laughter filled the room. MSWAT Los Angeles was one big family. Even the guy who got to be closest to the Ricardo's snipe was all grins, slapping the newest shooter on the team on the back and complimenting him. Everyone in the room, all fifty members of MSWAT LA had been at this drill for the last eight hours, running through it from top to bottom, alternating places from hostage to entry team from different angles and approach methods, and this was the last run of the day. The Captain finally called order after the short celebration, told his 'naturals' to take a shower, then meet back up in debriefing for a short analysis, then to wherever they all decided to go after hours.

Training was constant, and could be brutal on reploids and humans alike. The pay matched the effort, and the effort matched the results 99 percent of the time in SWAT units like this worldwide. They trained so they didn't have a One Percent Day. They trained so they didn't let down their comrades. After this, Hilde would be going with the rest of her reploid comrades to get maintenance on critical maneuvering systems, buster checks, dash thruster inspections, the whole nine yards, and the humans would get a quick physical scan by a reploid physician for any damage sustained in training. They'd go home, go rest and recharge, and do it all over again from the top the next day.

Another day, preparing and waiting for the real thing. Some might say this would be boring, but no emergency calls meant they weren't needed. Regular hunter units were able to do their job without resorting to MSWAT, and that meant that more or less, the City of Angels was at peace.

***

The Captain was an older model human type reploid who, like many reploids and humans, had picked up a few interesting personality quirks and 'scars' over his years of active service to human-reploidkind. He was terribly fond of older Hollywood films, something that the world had managed to archive rather well despite the destruction across the last century. It was possibly a side effect for being so relatively near where Hollywood once dominated the motion picture industry, but he had a tendency to play relevant sound clips in the middle of casual conversation when he felt the timing was just right. He would have made a terrible comedian in the wider world, but among his elite unit here, he got his laughs.

"You climb obstacles like old people fuck, d'you know that Private Pyle?" issued forth from The Captain as he pointed at Sato.

"Full Metal Jacket, sir?"

"You've watched it!" The Captain smiled. "You hesitated a bit too long, and were in the doorway much longer than you should have been."

"I can't defend against that. I'll admit seeing one of the guys up there gave me a moment."

"It was on purpose. Do what you did today, but faster. That goes for the rest of the humans here, understand? I picked you for a reason, so keep showing me that reason, even when you're dog tired, or at least tell us that you're exhausted. Some of our flesh and blood friends have been here for a year, some of you are anywhere between three to six months. All of you are wondering why I picked humans to replace Reploids we lost either to MHHQ New Tokyo or New York. No offense, but you're not 'replacing' anyone." The Captain looked older very suddenly. The way he shifted his weight around suddenly enhanced his presence, but the scars across his face, things that could be easily erased if he so much as asked, there was something sad about the man just then. "I don't know when and if we will be called out. Usually, we're last resort. That's why I push us all so hard. Humans are typically viewed with a certain amount of distrust, even among civilian organizations like ours. All things considered, we've earned our cynicism. It can't go on like this. You understand?" He gestured to the wall behind where everyone was seated. "There's a picture for every man and woman that I've commanded in my time up there. I looked at it one day, you know, thinking about the past. Regrets, the usual, and it struck me that there was not a single human on that roster. It made me sick, and I wanted to change that. So here we stand, we're the first integrated MSWAT unit in the West Coast, and by God, we're better for it."

"We're the crossroads. We're proof that there's still a place for reploids and humans to stand side by side at the front lines of this war. It is a war, and just because things are slow now doesn't mean the war's on hold. This is more than a battle with busters and high explosives, it's one that takes place at home, in the office, on the streets, every day. We have to prove that Reploids and Humans can go beyond the politics in the capitals and actually do the hard stuff side by side." He cleared his throat, an odd gesture for a reploid to make, another quirk. "So if you wonder why I ride your asses all the time, you damned softies, it's because you're the proof that things are still working out. I want to believe in reploids like X and humans like the late Doctor Cain. I want them to be right." The Captain shook his head, trying to remember and forget something all at once. "We meet back here tomorrow at 0700, the usual. Think about what I said. It's not about whether or not you're filling up the slot a Feraloid or a full combat reploid once had, remember that."

He had a captive audience, with nods of agreement all around.

"Now get outta here. Go drink, go have fun." He put on the most menacing look he could manage. "If ANY of you, ANY of you come back mildly intoxicated, as one of you smart asses once put it, I will plant my foot through your faces!" The moment was destroyed by laughter and people point at a specific member of their number, a reploid with a shock of orange hair who could only grin sheepishly under the accusing shouts and laughs of the rest of the everyone here, this was family away from family, home away from home.

***

The Doc was another female type reploid who went by the name Hypatia. Unlike most reploids designed for a more physical operation, she lacked most of the defining physical qualities. From a distance, she looked as though she were a modestly proportioned woman in her late twenties, and was a bit smaller than just about every reploid in MSWAT LA. The lack of armor spoke volumes of her own history; she was born essentially as window dressing for a wealthy businessman with odd tastes, but somehow managed to also be a man of decent character. She'd actually been let go from his ownership simply upon asking. A trip down to a recruiting station later, and she found she was wholly unfit for any form of combat duty, her body frame was too delicate for the modifications a standard human type would need to undergo for frontline action as a full on Hunter. Undaunted, Hypatia decided she would contribute in the best way she could. Her fine motor control systems allowed her grace uncommon even among female type reploids, her hands could work with just about anything mechanical.

The light armor she wore also more decorative in nature than anything else, predominantly red, with golden racing stripes running along the length of the armored sections, limited to her boots, which had no emergency accelerator system of their own, and her gauntlets, which could not reform into a buster of any kind. She chose to allow her figure to be visible, black elastic material covering synthflesh and high performance reploid plumbing. Her hair and eyes were cause for much amusement to the rest of MSWAT, being adjustable in length or color respectively. Today she was blond with blue eyes.

She didn't happen to be a bad physician for homo sapiens, as far as Ricardo was concerned.

"You've got nothing wrong with you, nothing that will restrict you in the field or here in training." One of her fingers ran delicately over a portion of his exposed chest, over a tender spot at his ribs, where'd he'd taken a fall much earlier in the day when he was having his turn at playing hostage. "Nothing serious here either, if you were about to ask. It'll bruise, some swelling, but nothing you couldn't handle. You're good to go, as you would say."

"Thanks. How about Lars?" Ricardo was much more concerned with his fellow SWAT member who had been his unlucky close call for the day.

"He's fine. Seemed jittery and he's not going to be hearing very well for probably another eight to ten hours, but he's fine. You didn't even give him any flash burns with your near miss, which is impressive. Did you know exactly where to shoot to score a 'kill' but keep him in one piece?"

"I guessed, to be honest."

"It must be nice to be able to act with that sort of uncertainty." She smiled at him, brushing aside a strand of green hair from her face. "You can put your clothes back on. While it is quite aesthetically pleasing, I'm going to be needed down in Maintenance working on Hilde again."

"Whaddya mean, 'uncertainty'?"

"Exactly what it sounds like. I know more about physics than you would care to imagine. If I could hold that weapon that you wield, I could probably shoot it more accurately than you could. It's all software and precision machinery with us. But with humans, it's something else." Hypatia looked at her hands as though suddenly greatly fascinated by their design. "My hands are more or less the same as yours, save for obvious material differences. Same range of motion, in order to help us blend in with a world human inhabit, I can simply control my tools better than you. In a way, it's all numbers for me."

"Well, I'd like some of that certainty." Ricardo Sato said whole-heartedly.

"Maybe we can trade some time." Hypatia laughed as she walked out of the room. "Well, hurry up. I'm sure Hilde is waiting for me."

"What, am I important to this procedure?"

"Only for potential hilarity when she sees you walking in while she is, and I quote, vulnerable."

***

"I can't believe you let him in here." Hilde growled with ever increasing menace. "I'm naked here, cover me up for the love of-" Unwilling to deal with the growing volume of the complaints, Hypatia reached up with her delicate hands and adjusted something near Hilde's electronic brain. Her voice cut off immediately, leaving her to glare impotently at the physician.

"If it makes you feel better, you've got nothing to be ashamed of. There's...genuine female reploid design underneath that customized ballistic chest plating." Ricardo offered. This earned him Hilde's glare, and Hypatia's laughter. "When you're done, you're both invited to come with a group of us that are up to grab some drinks."

_Only if I get to beat the hell out of you, asshole!_ Hilde mouthed as hard as she could at Ricardo. She looked away, her face growing redder as she realized he was studying her reactions. Realizing he'd been caught staring, Ricardo also looked away.

Reploids were as close to human beings beyond any other machines that had been built throughout history. Though specialized units were often designed with forms that were more animalistic in nature, the special properties of humans, of reploids, was their ability to think, reason, and interact intelligently with their surroundings, to absorb information and use it in everyday life, regardless of their physical forms and manipulate the physical structures around them to a degree Mother Nature hadn't quite replicated for a very long time. When X made his smash debut to the world over a decade before, people held tightly to their disbelief that a machine could be so human in personality and appearance. Even those like Ricardo, a part of the first generation of children to be raised alongside of reploids, found their humanity to be closer to science fiction than science fact. There was a disconnect, but it grew harder and harder to put a name to. It was hard for him to believe that at the end of the day, she was a walking super computer with self recognized limitations and advantages, unaware that she was awful cute looking as embarrassed as she did.

"Hey, let her talk again."

"If she can let me finish my maintenance without shouting." Hypatia reached back up towards Hilde's e-brain. "You'll behave?" Satisfied with the emphatic nod in reply, she reactivated her speech center.

" Of course I'll behave." Hilde refused to look at either of her tormentors in the eyes. "See how much you'd like it if someone just shut off your voice."

"You gonna come with me or not?" Ricardo asked, checking his wrist awkwardly for a watch that wasn't there.

"Of course I'll go. When a single beer flattens your lightweight ass, I'm going to be there to record it and mock you for it endlessly."

"You're both terrible at this." Hypatia remarked. "Hilde, your right leg acceleration system is showing stress fatigue again. I've replaced the fuses that were blown, and the thrust vector nozzle is also brand new, but I'm going to recommend a military grade revamp on both legs, sooner rather than later. I can order the parts, but we both know how long it'll take before Requisitions gets their hands on what we need. MHHQ Tokyo is underfunded as is, and only the best of the best get the higher grade stuff expedited."

"Whaddya mean we're terrible at what?" Ricardo and Hilde both snapped.

"I've told you to stop using your dash thrusters when breaching doors!" Ricardo added a moment later.

"Sure, I'll listen to the guy who doesn't have built in rockets in his feet to tell me how to use my hardware!"

"He has a point, Hilde." The doctor interjected. "Normal use is fine, but the way you're abusing that system is going to cause issues later. It's hard to predict what could happen, but I can already formulate over sixty potential failures that could result of your antics, not that you'd listen even if I did take the time to describe them all."

"I'll go easier on the boots, Hyp. I promise."

"You make and break that promise easily and often." Pressing several buttons on Hilde's maintenance bed, the various connection wires withdrew from the patient back into storage within the bed. The securing straps that held her down disengaged. The ballistic chest plating folded back down snugly over the access panel just below her breasts. A few moments filled with assorted clicks and hums passed, and Hilde sat upright.

"Thanks for the work, Hyp. Just don't bring along Mister Ogle next time."

"But the look on your face was priceless!" Hypatia poked the taller reploid's belly, taking on a mocking tone in her voice. "Oh no! I'm naked! I'm naked!"

"I'll end you, scrap pile." Hilde warned.

"Be gentle when you do."

Ricardo Sato could only shake his head.

***

_Arcology Two South, United States Southwestern Aerospace Command_

_Los Angeles, California 12:45 AM_

The sheer size of Los Angeles was impressive from any place you viewed it from, but arguably, it didn't get any better than the top floor balcony of Arcology Two South, the tallest structure in the whole city. A massive, three sided pyramid inspired structure that stood over fifteen hundred meters in height at it's very peak. A2South represented the sheer industrial strength of mankind, it's tenacity in the face of problems both mathematical and physical in nature. Even before the wars of 2040, humans designed and successfully built structures ever taller, and perhaps for this sign of arrogance did many of these skyscrapers fall victim to the expanding scope of the conflicts that wracked the world. The structure reflected the afternoon sun off of its solar panel surfaces, gathering what it could before the day gave way to night. Much of the city reflected the design principals of the Arcology.

Unwilling to let something like total war dampen man's desire to live on the ground, yet be able to touch the edge of the sky all at once, a new generation of architects built, rebuilt, and expanded where they could. A2South was the farthest structure inland that was still connected to Los Angeles proper, and it housed Southwestern United States Aerospace Command, command centers for local collaborations between all branches of the US military, and just as importantly, one of the larger Mechaniloid/Repliroid construction facilities that supplied North America with it's budding new workforce and inhabitants. If it was the only one of its kind in the US it would be undoubtedly the most important structure in the United States, but as it stood, fifteen of these technological monoliths stood across the whole nation, each with various purposes, owned by various parent organizations. A2South was one of three that the military had total control over.

Twelve figures stood atop the massive structure, gazing at the city far below.

Rocked hard by the wars, and the ever increasing threat that Reploids could present, the United States hadn't changed much as a political entity. Outside of the Global Defense Council as a whole, it still maintained the largest standing military on the planet. While politically it had long since fallen far from the relevance it held leading up to the 2040's, it by and large was still the only military super power on the globe, especially after the 2090's conflicts reignited humanity's self destructive nature. A world without an Albert Wily to terrorize it was left to itself and an increasingly useless United Nations.

While the GDC more or less ruled the recovering planet, if the US decided to leave the party, it was all over for the struggling world body. If certain politicians had their way, this would have happened after Sigma's First.

_Well, if at first you don't succeed, try, try again._

Key to GDC enforcement and recovery around the planet was its use of member states with vast military capability, deploying them worldwide. The United States, much like it had always been, led all of these peacekeeping efforts with its military strength. There was growing weariness with the public in regards to all of this. Nearly a century had passed since the great wars. Hadn't the United States absolved itself of its wartime sins? Had any other nation thrown as much of their wealth and youth into bringing the planet back into something resembling order? When could the sons and daughters and reploids of the nation finally come back home? Why shoulder so much more of the burden than the rest of the world, a world that for a long time to Americans grew less and less friendly to them?

'When the job is done' wasn't cutting it for some, and that threatened to become many. While the United States was responsible for it's own share of sins, there had been so many belligerents, so many fronts, so much chaos, twice over, that there was a growing sense to finally, at long last, drop the baton and walk away from the race once and for all.

"I'm sorry to ask this of you all, but after this, regardless of what happens, we will be Mavericks, forever."

"We knew the risks of your plan, but it can't be helped. But I believe in you, WE believe in you, sir. We're not garden variety Mavericks. "

"'_The GDC will collapse under the weight of its own ineptitude'_. Sounds awfully United Nations, sir."

"Well, the League of Nations should be thanked for starting a colorful and storied history at the true failings of such alliances."

"We could argue history for years if we start on that."

"If the GDC isn't able to provide an appropriate response, then it's all but finished. The US will call back its troops from all over the globe, all in the name of Homeland Security. If that happens, they take Canada with them. North America, completely out of the GDC. It's a nightmare they've been staving off for years now."

"Have we estimated the casualties?"

"It's within acceptable limits."

"Then in three days, this place will really be history..."

"That is all, everyone. Contact the necessary fire teams, have them start picking out low level targets. Our primary object remains A2South. Unless I say otherwise, we engage our targets of opportunity, disable, destroy, and fade away. Our phase one objective is to minimize the threat of MSWAT and the localized presence of Maverick Hunters in and around the city by forcing them to become occupied with our diversion. The goal is to force the GDC to enter into combat with us, where they will sadly be ineffective, hopefully forcing the full deployment of the 17th and the 0 Units throughout the city. If the Hunters are proven to be more effective, there's no reason to support the GDC if it can't assist its largest member state."

"After the initial attacks, we'll have the city on lockdown. They can't possibly expect such an organized assault now, not from Sigma's Mavericks."

"It certainly is an exciting way to retire."

"Three days, people. We've been working towards this since the World Trial. While I'd like to believe that X is correct, and that we can correct the mistake of the GDC through other means, we must understand that we are under a time limit. They've tried to kill us all off twice now, they've tried to turn humans into monsters to use against us. There will not be a third time. We will not allow it."

***

_The Mala Suerte,_ 1:00 AM

Ricardo never learned his lessons easily, but Hilde had to admire his tenacity when it came to MSWAT work and to drinking. If he was as good at drinking as he was at the old 'shoot n' scoot', it would sadly make evenings like this much less amusing. _The Mala Suerte_ was not far from the office, and as far as a watering hole was concerned, the team could certainly have done far worse than this place, and at the very least, nobody really liked to pick a fight here with all of the reploids and humans in police uniforms sitting at practically every corner. It was a nice place to wind down after being wound up for the better part of the day. Some people not a part of their group were failing horrifically at karaoke, cheered on by everyone else left in the place. When it was getting this bad, it was past time to leave.

"I have not yet begun this evening's fine festivities." Ricardo said with a certain amount of slurred eloquence, addressing what was definitely the last shot of whiskey. "By all means, join the party downstairs, everyone is having fun without you." He downed the drink with no hesitation, turning his wandering gaze in Hilde's general direction. "I believe you said I could not hold my liquor. You are wrong. Do not misunderguesstimate my iron will to meet your challenges head on. I nearly blew off the brain housing group of Lars today, but didn't. I am a rock, a stone."

"Come on, The Captain'll destroy us both if we come in all screwed up like this. We're the last ones here and conscious." Hilde knew that she did not sound much better than Ricardo. She knew that she felt infinitely better than he did, based on what she knew about the effects of alcohol products on human physiology. Her body broke down food and drink in minutes and seconds if she so chose to, as opposed to hours for Ricardo. They had less than five hours to rest before the early morning muster, and being her squad's CO, it was her responsibility to make sure that her people had an example in her to follow, not that she was any better at the moment. She was sloshed, more than her systems could take now. If time were something under her control, she'd go back and remind herself to turn on the processing systems within her before she started tossing drinks back one after another. Now she'd have to suffer alongside of her friends.

"Would you be so kind?" Ricardo held up a hand weakly. Hilde lifted the man out of his seat, resting him easily on her back

"I don't care what you say, you suck at drinking."

"I love you too. Take me to bed?" Ricardo got a very familiar look on his face, the 'Oh Shit' look. "I don't think I feel par for the course."

"Yer gonna puke."

"Am not. I am offended you would even suggest such a thing."

He vomited twice before they even reached the car.

***

"We're here." Hilde's face scrunched up at the foul smell her cargo was tainted with.

"Oh goody." Ricardo's voice was hoarse, and the man sounded terribly lacking in sleep.

His apartment was an odd specimen among the myriad bachelor pads that the majority of MSWAT resided in. It was almost always clean, organized. Nothing was ever out of place for very long. She imagined that despite having an early morning, he would somehow drag himself up an hour earlier, and at least work on cleaning anything his vomit stained clothes had touched on his way to bed.

"Grab my keys, willya?" He seemed to be shivering on her back. "I'm a bit out of sorts. Never let me do this again."

"Like last time." Hilde chuckled, reaching into his pockets for the key card. She carried him inside while keeping the lights down, not wanting to cause him any more headaches than he already felt. She knew her way around the place almost as well as he did. Whenever they weren't at work, she and the rest of the squad came to his place to kick back if they weren't hitting up a club or a bar. It was amusing in a way that after all the time they spent getting ready for a real shootout, they all found relaxation by getting smoked in the virtual battlefields by twelve year olds online who spent almost more time on the games than they did in training.

She would always stay the longest. After everyone else had left, it was always her and Ricardo, still shouting at the wallscreens, still chucking controllers back and forth (she always being more careful, given how hard she could throw something as small as a control pad). Or they'd sit and talk shop. Or they'd cook, if he were hungry. She didn't have to eat like a human needed to, no reploid actually had to, but there was no denying the appeal to their senses a real meal was. He was a better cook than she was, but he never complained when it was her turn.

"You know, I almost splattered Lars today. Almost a One Percent Day."

"You've been saying that again and again since we got in the car." She made her way into his room, carrying him to the bed, kneeling to gently lay him down. As she started to stand back up, she felt his arms wrap around her suddenly.

Her body tensed.

_What are we doing?_

"I've been trying to forget that look on his face before I pulled." His voice was breaking now. "I don't wanna hurt none of you guys. I don't wanna."

"You aren't going to. You're just drunk." She found herself returning his hug. His grip grew tighter.

"You gotta stop me from doing this again." Ricardo made a retching sound, his body convulsing once, but nothing came of it. He groaned.

They were face to face now, in the dark. His breath, sour and terrible, didn't concern her at that moment. What did was just how close their lips were. It was somehow more terrifying than anything else she could conjure up immediately. She felt herself shivering, as though she were a newly minted Hunter all over again, in the year before she'd been cherry picked by The Captain for MSWAT, staring down a berserk mechaniloid with her old peashooter. The shakes seemed to only worsen when she tried to will them away.

It concerned her because she wasn't resisting. It was warm, and somehow also comforting to be with him as they were right then. It was wrong, but it wasn't.

They'd been partners for a year, and friends for almost that long, having hit things off well since the day he had joined.

Nothing like this had ever happened between them. _What are we doing, Ricky?_

"I'm sleepy." He said, after minutes had passed with the two like this, as though realization had finally dawned on him through his own stupor. Awkwardly, they broke the embrace. Hilde stumbled back two steps, and they stared at each other as the moon, cutting through the blinds, highlighted the two, commanding officer and subordinate.

"Good night." She breathed, turning to leave.

He snored a response. She felt much more impaired now than she had when they'd arrived, quite suddenly, and found making her way to the door was hard. _What the hell what the hell what the hell._ She turned back to face his room, door still open. Her eyes were perfectly adjusted for the limited lighting now. She could see him clearly, even from the door. She lingered a moment longer before opening the door to leave. Then she paused once more, looking back at him.

"Damnit." Hilde turned back around, almost tripping on her feet, shaking as she walked back into his room. She clawed at the alarm clock next to his head, and set it to 6:00AM.

"Don't be late." She said quietly, before turning away to leave once more.

***

_September 10, 2133, 9:12 AM_

_Hollywood, Los Angeles, California_

_**Welcome to Hollywood!**__ Historic Archive Park_

Hollywood was no longer the absolute center of the motion picture industry, not in the same sense that it was prior to the 2040's, but it still remained one of the key places for the entertainment industry that had learned to distribute itself more across the globe than ever. Humanity learned how centralization of media during war came at a great cost. Even now, there were things from the past that would never be found simply because they'd been stored in few locations easily found by the weapons of man. Civilian populace was no shield during total war. The Hollywood of the day was a recreation based on aging historical archives, it was possibly inaccurate in more ways than the people responsible for it wanted to try and count. It was the thought, the atmosphere, the costumes, the recreated sets that all counted. Even entertainment deserved to be passed on to future generations.

"We're currently entering a studio set recreation of the town of Tombstone, Arizona, site of the Gunfight at the O.K. Corral on October 26th, 1881. The Old West is still a popular subject of study to this day, and Hollywood actors, film writers, directors, and many, many others have dedicated their efforts to making films about this time period. You could say that no matter how much humanity changes, we still yearn for a simpler, rougher time." Johnny Young said the introduction to the Tombstone set with practiced ease, inflecting a southern drawl that sounded genuine to the uninformed. Despite how many times he'd said this over the last three years, he figured this was the best job to have to help pay for college. It didn't hurt that he was an old movie buff, so to him, work was more like play. At the Tombstone Set Exhibit, Johnny dressed up as one Johnny Ringo, allegedly one of the roughest, toughest cowboys that ever rode the Wild West, and if you believed the movies, could only be slain by one Doc Holliday. History had recorded otherwise, but Young preferred the movie versions of his alter ego any day. Most people did.

"Johnny Ringo!" A co-worker dressed up like Mr. Holliday shouted from across the dusty street. "I believe you started a game and we were interrupted!"

"'Scuse me folks." He grinned at the crowd, and was reminded that even less than fifteen minutes after opening, this place was one of the hottest attractions in the Studio Lot section. Hundreds of tourists, mostly foreign, but even some locals who brought their kids here to pass time were mixed in. "Alright 'lunger'! Lets finish this!" He reached for his revolver, tapping it idly as he and Doc began the practiced, slow circling of one another in the street that they'd done so many times. The crowd cheered. It was a real shame Johnny was going to have to die again, but he and his reploid partner dressed up as Holliday always had fun with it.

"Waitin' on you, daisy."

"Say 'go'."

At that moment, a reploid teleported down from the sky between the two, almost too silently to be heard, one moment a greyish streak from the sky, the next an armored figure on the ground. He stood at an even six feet, and wore what appeared to be additional ballistic shielding, giving him the appearance of a somewhat mis-proportioned football player. He was mostly black in color, contrasting with his pale synthflesh face, with bright green eyes staring directly at Johnny. The reploid had long, brown hair, tied into into a braid that hung over one shoulder, looking out of place coming from underneath the armored helmet, a bright purple crystal at its center. He appeared to be frowning. Someone in the crowd began crying out in terror. There was a very familiar logo emblazoned on his chest plate. Johnny recognized it from the news, from history classes, from news pages. _Oh my god._

"Go." He said, seemingly to someone else other than the two false gunmen.

"MAVERICKS!" 'Doc Holliday' shouted, running around the intruder trying to reach Johnny. "EVERYONE GET DOWN, GET DOWN, JOHNNY HE'S GONNA-" The reploid Doc never got to finish his statement, the upper half of his body vanishing in a burst of plasma and flame unleashed from the black reploid's suddenly raised buster. No sound was heard before the shot was fired, and Johnny knew enough about modern firearms used by reploids to know the bastard in front of him was using some form of sound suppression on his weapon to hide the normally audible whine of a charged buster. Former military Maverick. Whirling around to check on the tourists, he found that six more reploids had teleported down, just as silently, surrounding the screaming civilians, and when he turned back to face the first, he was flanked by two others. More reploids teleported down all over Tombstone, and all of them looked much like the first, adorned in black armor. Some held magrifles, others held busters at the ready, the three before him now held ignited orange beam sabers. They marched at Johnny briskly. Unable to think, he stood his ground, his hand still on his revolver, knowing it would fire nothing even if he drew but oh God they were coming closer what could he do he was dead dead dead they would hurt him cut him to pieces-

He was unceremoniously picked up by the first reploid, and as he was tossed into the crowd of hostages, he managed to catch a name stenciled onto the armor next to Sigma's Emblem.

'HERMES.'

"Attention. You are now our prisoners of war, and as such you will be treated with the proper respect, provided you do not resist or ignore our instructions." Hermes spoke calmly, nothing like the Mavericks anyone in the crowd read about, or in a few cases, had survived run ins with. "You will live as long as you follow our orders. You will be divided among the buildings here. If you are with family, you will not be separated. If you have existing physical conditions that might lead to an emergency, rest assured if negotiations are conducted, you will be released first. We have a medic reploid with us who will attend to you if you need it. We haven't much time, so I must request we begin splitting you up immediately." He turned to face his comrades, who stood at attention facing him from wherever they were posted. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are Mavericks now, but do not forget what we are here for, and who we were before today! Apollo is counting on us!"

"Sir, yes sir!"

The six that were guarding the crowd were joined by two more who had gathered stray workers from the rest of the 'town', and then began calling for people with families to follow their instructions to individual buildings. The workers were all part of one group, and Johnny, still in a daze at his not being dead, was helped to his feet by the same Hermes that had thrown him.

"My apologies for your friend. He was armed with a Mark 10 Light Buster Civilian Mod 3. It posed no threat to me, but if he missed, he could have killed one of the hostages." He bowed his head in apology. "I do not expect your forgiveness." Pointing at one of the saloons. "Take your group there, gunman. Whatever happens, I am leaving you in charge of them. Do not allow anyone to leave, we cannot guarantee their safety if that happens."

"Y-yessir." _What is up with this guy? Not acting like any Maverick I read about..._

"I do not rate that any longer from your kind." Hermes waved the young man and his coworkers off towards the saloon.

"Hermes, the team is in position at all preplanned points." The shortest of the three in command spoke up from his left.

"Thank you, Zephyrus. Chronos?"

"I've activated my EM field and my wide range beam scattering field. Electronic communications and teleportation is sealed off in a radius that covers this whole lot." Though just as imposing as the other two commanders, her voice was soft, gentle. "Before activating the field, I send a program to a vidphone external of the op area, it will transmit the prerecorded message in two minutes to the Associated Press and to the Los Angeles Maverick Hunter HQ." Hermes grunted his acknowledgment.

"Gunman!" He called out at Johnny. "I never caught your name."

"It's Johnny. _His_ name was Roland." He found himself blinking rapidly, fighting off tears as he realized that Roland was really, truly gone. Friend for years before they'd even started working here, gone. Just like that. His corpse still smoldered in the dust, the stink of reploid blood and melted circuitry hung in the air.

"He was brave. It's your turn now." Hermes smiled bitterly. "This ordeal isn't meant to last long. Don't waste the life he gave for yours."

***

_Maverick Hunter SWAT Briefing Room, 9:29 AM_

"It's been confirmed, people." The Captain began. "At 9:18 AM, the Associated Press and Los Angeles Hunter HQ got calls announcing that Mavericks attacked the _Welcome to Hollywood_ Historical Archive Park, specifically the Tombstone exhibit. One casualty, a reploid worker, no way to confirm if he resisted. There are an unconfirmed number of human and reploid hostages, but we're estimating over 300 total."

"My God." Hilde whispered. She exchanged a look with Ricardo.

"It's a rare thing, Mavericks taking hostages." The Captain said grimly. "We have to assume those people don't have much time. We haven't been called in yet, but expect it. Type A loadout. Assume they will have protection against plasma-based weaponry. We'll learn more in the next half hour."

"Any demands?" someone asked.

"Not as of this time. Regular cops have established a perimeter around the whole lot being formed right now, and nobody has seen more than a couple of the perps, could be hiding their strength. Satellites aren't able to pierce the EM barrier that's in place, and cameras are having trouble cycling through the jamming. We have to assume that the enemy is organized extremely well, for Mavericks. If things go well, Maverick Hunters from local HQ will be able to handle it. We know there's a beam scattering field, so teleporting in is out of the question for the moment." The Captain pointed for the briefing room exit. "Be geared up and at the flight ops hanger in ten minutes!"

***

_**Welcome to Hollywood!**__ Historic Archive Park, 9:55AM_

"Well, the regular police are setting up a defensive perimeter around the place, just outside of my EM barrier limit, at least from my current position." Chronos said into the general channel. "I'd say we're facing the larger deployment from the southern entrance, but the short of it is that this is a terrible spot to make a stand. The lot is just too big and too open, with too many places for vehicle or foot access. Even counting our use of optical camoflage, as soon as we reveal our positions, they can snipe at us without much effort."

"The police aren't the issue. They don't have the firepower to take us on, and they hopefully won't be trying anything stupid without Hunter or MSWAT support, especially since they haven't the foggiest what they're facing." Hermes looked down at a holographic display that he'd set up on the ground in a room away from the hostage buildings, poking idly at police units that were marked and at the moment immobile. "How are the hostages?"

"Got an old guy who's not doing so well, but he's been stabilized." Zephyrus took off his helmet as he walked into the command center, scratching idly at his spiked jet-black hair. "They are really scared, sir. I can't say I'm a fan of this part of the mission."

"Well, it'll be over soon." Hermes blinked at Zephyrus, noting his nervous scratching. "You think we'll be hit early?"

"Not just that, I think the police really will try to clear this place before they get reinforcements. They're...humans. Most of them, at any rate. Most of our hostages are human too, they've got to have a list of names by now of who is in here with us. Look at their deployments." He stabbed his finger at the southern and eastern entrances. "Spotters marked these vehicles earlier, riot control units from the Hollywood Precinct. I think they are really planning on just marching in here with magpistols blazing, riot shields at the ready and when they come, it'll be from the north, in force." The implications were clear.

"There's nothing we'd gain if we let them start a shootout with us inside here. The hostages cannot be harmed." Hermes motioned for Zephyrus to follow him to the roof of the saloon, the two cloaked before they even stepped outside. A smart observer would have noticed the dust kicking up as they walked onto the dirt, as they jumped up onto the rooftop, no louder than a pair of cats. "Fire teams, stand by, Zephyrus and myself will be revealing ourselves to the hostiles. Prepare for combat, but do not fire unless we are fired upon, or I say so." There was a click of acknowledgment from the rest of the team, and they dropped their cloaks then. "Lets see what they do." The sun was clawing it's way higher into the sky, and even though his eyes automatically compensated faster than any human pair could, he still felt the need to shield his face a moment as he took a look at the skies over his position. There were a good number of press aircraft hovering in slow lazy circles, with a pair of somewhat more menacing Police patrol polycraft lower to the ground than the rest of them, looking like bulbous, blue and white flies without wings and stubs for legs. They had chin-mounted auto cannons trained on the two Mavericks, and both units were slowing down their orbits, lining up shots. Zephyrus was right.

"Sir-" one of the three snipers in the team started to call out a warning.

Hermes snapped up his right hand as it converted into a buster, lined up one of the police craft and unleashed a hellish blue white bolt that cleared the distance between him and it in less than a second. There was a delayed thundercrack, and the police ship folded in on itself and detonated, raining debris on the ground below. Even though it was blocks away, he could hear the screams of civilians and emergency personnel unfortunate enough to be caught under the falling debris. Cursing the sensitivity of his audio sensors, he glowered at the second police craft, who was accelerating _at_ Tombstone, juking left and right erratically.

"I can put a missile on number two." Chronos called out. Though Hermes could barely make her outline through her cloak, he could see her very faint silhouette shouldering one of the two multi purpose rocket launchers they brought along for this job.

"You'd have to disable to EM field for guidance, don't risk it. Snipers, take shots on Threat Two, stay hidden if possible."

The triple crack of the sniper team's magrifles echoed across the lot. The second police craft shuttered as though it had been involved in a head on collision with another equal sized flyer, the cockpit mashed inward one moment then shattering outwards as the anti-material rounds killed the pilot and perhaps most of the crew as they passed through toward points unknown. Bleeding off airspeed and airframe quickly, the polycraft's engines whined as the onboard gyroscope detected the massive damage received and the failing repulsors, and tried to use the raw strength of the main engines to stay aloft. It failed spectacularly into a rolling self contained metal and fuel disaster, shedding and flinging shrapnel in every direction, rolling in and through the western wall that divided the lot from the rest of the park. The hulk slid to a halt about fifty meters from the saloon Hermes and Zephyrus stood on. There was a lot more chaos, all around them now, officers yelling at people to get back. The distant wail of fire engines.

"You wanted them to know about the snipers?"

"I wanted them to know there's damn little they can do about them for the moment. They don't know how many we have. They only know about you and me for certain." Hermes felt a familiar sensation coursing through his frame. It felt terrible to know that some part of him was excited to be exchanging fire with an enemy, any enemy, especially now. "Drop back into cloak, you stay here. I'm going inside for a moment." Hermes jumped down to street level, then for good measure, still cloaked, he jumped back up and landed a little bit to the right, simulating his teammate landing next to him. With any luck, they'd believe they were both down from the rooftop. The saloon had the most hostages than any of the other buildings, they could tell that much with infrared scanners. They would go for the largest group of hostages first, he predicted.

***

_MSWAT Flight Operations Hanger, 10:03 AM_

Geared up and waiting, the only thing they could do was watch the news with growing impatience.

"Did you see that?! Oh man..." one man exclaimed as the patrol craft met their ends, on national television. With the way the news of the hostage crisis had been broken, there had been no time for a press blackout, even a temporary one would have helped immensely. Ricardo could only imagine the growing panic; Los Angeles had always been considered a major target city for hostilities human or Maverick in nature.

"That's two that we know what they look like." Hilde breathed, shifting her right hand to buster mode, then back. It was something she did when she was anxious.

"Magrifles." Ricardo offered. "Two...maybe three reports. Sound is different from ours too, if the sound pick up from the remote cams was anything to go by. The M244 is the latest US Army Anti Material MagRifle, depleted energen tipped ammunition. Easily put a hole in one of our transports..."

"Former military Mavericks then?" Hilde asked.

"Cameras on those stinkin' press monkeys are too shit to really get the fine details. They got cloaks. There's more than those guys." That was the Point Man for Bravo Team, who was known by the rest of the team as Kindle. MSWAT was divided into four teams: Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, and Delta. The Captain was keeping Charlie and Delta in reserve for this potential mission. Alpha, Hilde and Ricardo's team, and Bravo already had their insertion craft fueled and ready to go, warming up on the flight pads.

The Captain had been pacing slowly back and forth, but when the newscast zoomed in on the face of the Maverick that had taken down the first flyer, he paused. Nobody noticed, but his mouth dropped slightly open. His eyes widened, then narrowed, in recognition.

"Three." He whispered. Nobody noticed that, either.

***

_**Welcome to Hollywood!**__ Historic Archive Park, 10:26AM_

At the moment, it appeared that the police were going to give the Mavericks their breathing space. Hermes was as cut off from the outside world as the anyone else inside the EM and beam scattering field that Chronos was producing, but he could take a guess: Confusion. Why keep so many hostages? Mavericks didn't take hostages very often. It was asking to get killed, slowing down to keep a human or reploid in tow. Or three hundred and twelve of them. The plan called for witnesses. They had plenty now.

"So why are you doing this?" Johnny had asked. He might have been little more than an acting gunman at an amusement park, but he certainly showed comparatively less fear than his fellow hostages.

"We only want to destroy the ideas and people that make the GDC what it is: corrupt, flawed, ultimately useless. If you want to know why we have become Mavericks, it is that simple. We want to stop being convenient little toy soldiers for a world body that would just as willingly fan up the flames of hysteria once more, and put us all on another World Trial like that of 2124. We may be the product of humans, but I refuse to believe that we were built to be mere accessories to an imperfect world, mere outlets for another species." Hermes remained the monolith of calm he'd come to represent, his voice never wavering or rising in anger or hostility.

"So you killed Roland, and God knows how many more you'll kill."

"If you truly want to understand why we are doing this, simply observe us." Johnny frowned at the answer, and returned to his place among the hostages, eyes never leaving Hermes. Sighing, the commander shuffled away. _I suppose in the end, I shouldn't expect them to understand._ Looking outside, he squinted at the sun, a very human gesture, scanning the cloudless sky. "Looks like rain."

***

The Maverick Hunters were coming.

They came from the sky, aiming for the center of the town, unafraid of the beam scattering field that the team of eight knew was up. You couldn't teleport through a beam scattering field. You'd simply vanish like so many faint sparks from a firework, fade into nothing. As far as deaths went, it was possibly as painless a death as a Hunter could hope to have, but nobody who'd fallen victim to such a thing could come back from the other side and confirm that. It probably happened faster than a reploid brain could process. Comforting enough, in a morbid way.

The bolts of light suddenly reformed into actual figures a thousand meters over their target area. Backpacks armed with single use retrorockets kicked in, slowing their fatal plummet to something manageable for their leg shock absorbers. With uniform precision, they all formed busters and began scanning for targets, and found nothing. Several glances were exchanged. Even accounting for EM field interference, they should have been able to find targets even thousands of feet away. They were all designed for this sort of work.

To their credit, they knew more or less the offensive capabilities of their enemy based on what footage the media managed to broadcast. They estimated there were more than one or two, easily, and considering how quickly the Mavericks engaged and destroyed the patrol craft and hid their numbers while doing it, they were expecting a serious fight.

And yet as they landed…

"Nothing... No movement outside of the hostages." Prowl Cougar whispered. The commander of this Hunter team, he'd been around since Sigma's Second, originally designed to help with rainforest reclamation efforts in South America. He'd traded in his green thumb for a set of real hunting claws and a buster, unable to sit by and be a mere bystander while Sigma spread his violence throughout the world.

His second in command took three others and they fanned out in a loose circle in the center of town. The largest heat sources were the saloon, so they were going to investigate that first.

Cougar smiled to himself at the thought of calling out the enemy. The tension was almost too much, but there was no need to get too amped up just yet. It'd be unprofessional-

"Freeze. All of you. My name is Lieutenant Commander Hermes, sub commander to General Apollo, Reploid Special Forces, formerly attached to United States Army First Armored Division." The voice had come from everywhere at once, but there was no visible source, anywhere.

The Hunters all collapsed back into a smaller group, back to back, eyes and ears scanning for the threat that didn't seem to exist. "Prowl Cougar, Activation date December 29th, 2118, original purpose, wasteland reclamation, South America. Your team has been encircled. You no longer have any escape routes. Disarm." A single reploid coalesced into view, adorned in black armor, facing Cougar from the north. Reflexively, the Hunter formed his left buster and started building a charge, but otherwise held steady. His team comprised of two other feraloids, like himself, and the others were all humanoid types, and all were experienced enough to not be rattled by simple words.

"Maverick, I have no intention of disarming myself or my team."

"There is no need for you all to die. You have lost the tactical advantage. You are surrounded. Tell your people to disarm."

"Coug...we're in trouble!" one of Cougar's subordinates hissed.

All along the rooftops, more black armored reploids faded into view. Some had magrifles, others had a buster in one hand and a magpistol in the other. Every direction where there was a building there was at least one armed reploid staring down at them. There were at least thirty Mavericks versus the eight Hunters.

Cougar never believed in the idea that one's memories flashed before their eyes before they died, but he suddenly saw himself, significantly less bulky and armored, climbing a real banana tree, so rare in the world now, and cheering in triumph along with other reploid and human workers in South America, so long ago.

The faces of old friends. The faces of Mavericks he'd slain. Places he'd seen.

"Can you not hear me? I said disarm!"

"I will not give that command!" Cougar snarled. "Find their EM Jammer if you can."

"I got 'em, roof top, your left Cougar. Female type, can't miss her." His second in command said, his voice shaking somewhat. "We're screwed, aren't we?"

"Disarm!" bellowed the leader of the Mavericks.

"I will not give that command!"

***

_MSWAT Flight Operations Hanger, 10:32 AM_

"Don't you do it. Don't you do it!" Hilde said at the wallscreen.

An orbiting hover cam from a news station had managed to get close enough to start listening to drama playing out in realtime across the world.

"Son of a bitch...they disabled the EM field to let transmissions from inside the perimeter to get through...it's like a goddamned movie for them!" Someone else observed.

Weapons came up from the Maverick Hunters in the center of the frame. MSWAT held it's breath along with the rest of the world.

The Captain stood apart from the others, fists clenching.

***

_**Welcome to Hollywood!**__ Historic Archive Park, 10:33AM_

"Enough blood has been shed today. Disarm, for God's sake!" Hermes marched towards the Hunters, buster raised, beam saber in his free hand.

"Special Forces..." a hunter muttered in disbelief.

"Coug, give us an order!" one of the other feraloids

"Lieutenant Commander Hermes, please accept my final apology, but we will not disarm." Cougar said after a long moment. Hermes stopped his march. "I know all about the US Special Forces reploids. I know what we're up against. We have our duty." Prowl Cougar's voice raised to a shout. "Why have you abandoned yours?"

"The _world_ has abandoned us to subservience, has tried to deactivate us all en masse, at the behest of the GDC we were built for and served faithfully for fourteen years. Reploids and humans die for the GDC to prove a lie they have fabricated since our race first began mass production. Do you believe simply doing what you are told will make people treat us equally? Will give us a guaranteed right to live?"

"Do believe taking hostages to be any better?"

"Last chance, Hunter. Your time is running out."

For another long moment, all that could be heard was the sound of the charge being held by Cougar's buster. Nobody moved. All around, relatively safe inside the buildings, hostages had gathered at windows, front row seats to the coming storm.

He closed his eyes. Let out one more breath.

Cougar's buster shot up faster than Chronos anticipated, but she was already moving, knowing that if the Hunters intended to go out fighting, they would aim for her, as she was the most distinct of the other Mavericks with her electronic warfare gear deployed. The charged plasma burned off her right arm a moment after she fired her own shot, taking off one of Prowl Cougar's legs at the knee, knocking him down just as he lunged at Hermes.

The three magrifle snipers each took a shot, decapitating one hunter apiece, trying to avoid a microfusion generator breach.

Cougar dragged himself forward, raising his buster at Hermes.

A second salvo of mag rifle shots ripped through the air, three more hunters went down despite the fact that they had begun to scatter. Two died almost immediately from the severe damage, torso's ripped wide open, reactors shutting down instantaneously. The third from this group fired a wild spray of plasma bursts as she collapsed, screaming and firing at the black silhouettes. Three charged plasma bolts silenced her a moment later.

Cougar's own second in command was hit in the next moment by the snipers, all three at once. He simply flew apart, uttering a strangled gurgle before what was left of his upper body crashed into the ground, his eyes still wide open, but seeing nothing.

Cougar screamed with impotent rage, and his buster whined in harmony, a second charge built up. Zephyrus crashed down on his back, beam saber lashing out and severing the weapon from Cougar's arm. The buster discharged wildly into the sky, harmless. With surprising strength, Cougar managed to shove Zephyrus off with his remaining hand. Pushing up with his forearms, Cougar launched himself at Hermes with his one good leg just before the mag rifles fired once more, all but obliterating what was left of his right arm and both of his legs.

Hermes rushed forward, as though to catch Cougar, beam saber flashing out, punching through chest of the feraloid, artificial blood spraying free, boiling away on the beam saber.

"Already...finished...failed..."

"I didn't want this, Prowl Cougar."

"N-neither...did..." The feraloid shuddered once, blood leaking from his mouth.

**CATASTROPHIC DAMAGE, AUTO REPAIR SYSTEMS FAILED, AUTO STATIS ROUTINE FAILED, REACTOR OUTPUT DROPPING, UNABLE TO RECALL, IMMEDIATE MEDICAL INTERVENTION REQUIRED, BEACON ACTIVE AND TRANSMITTING FOR ONE MINUTE BEFORE PROGRAM LOSS.**

"_Neither did we." Cougar looked into Hermes eyes, but didn't see the Maverick anymore. Had he been a Maverick? Did it matter? He was back on the beaches of South America again, laughing with his friends around a makeshift campfire. An old human buddy of his handed him a beer, and Cougar accepted it gratefully. A yawn escaped his mouth suddenly. Must have been a long trip to return to this place, thousands of miles away from the good ol' US of A. Shut eye didn't seem like a bad idea._

_Everyone from his Hunter team was here too. Wasn't that funny? They never went to South America before today, as far as he could remember. No matter, everyone was here. He'd missed them all. He looked to east, and saw the sun begin creeping over the horizon. It was beautiful, and Cougar wished he wasn't so tired. He wanted to keep watching-_

Hermes deactivated the beam saber, carefully, almost reverentially laying down the body of Prowl Cougar.

"Sleep well."

***

_MSWAT Flight Operations Hanger, 10:34 AM_

"Shots have been fired, it appears the Maverick Hunters have take serious casualties, the police are now urging all civilian traffic within three miles of this stand off to fall back now. Is there any possibility the Hunters survived?" The human woman on the broadcast sounded shaken by the abrupt violence that had just been unleashed.

"There's simply no way to tell at this time, it looks like the EM barrier is the Mavericks have in place is interfering with our camera drone once more, we'll have continuing coverage of these events as the day goes on-"

"Change in plans." The Captain said abruptly, shutting down the screen. "All teams will be involved. All we do now is wait for the signal. Get your game faces on."

***

_**Welcome to Hollywood!**__ Historic Archive Park, 10:37AM_

"Oh God...we really did it, didn't we?" Chronos said quietly. She didn't seem too impaired by the loss of an arm, but now that the Hunters were dead, the combat high was wearing thin for everyone.

"It isn't over yet." Hermes inspected the remnants of her limb while she sat behind cover. "How are you? Can you still fight?"

"I'm able to perform my duties...the equipment isn't-" Hermes put a finger to her lips.

"How are _you_?" She didn't answer immediately, looking away suddenly.

"Sir...I..." She hugged her legs closer to her body with her remaining arm, shuddering. "They...didn't stand a chance...the bastards..." Hermes didn't know what he could say to soothe her conscience. It was one thing to kill enemies of the state, it was one thing to kill people doing to the wrong thing, to do so in the middle of an armed conflict was only natural. Oftentimes, one never got to look into the eyes of the enemy whose life they'd just extinguished. It rarely felt so personal. "These people were just doing their job...Oh God..." She was sobbing now. Zephyrus stood off to one side, looking down at the pile of fallen Hunters.

"Why'd they do it? They knew they were screwed...they coulda joined us..." Zephyrus kicked idly at the dust on the ground. "Goddamnit!"

"They were...so like us that there wasn't any possibility they would have joined us. There is no going back." Hermes stood up, giving Chronos the space she needed. "Get the mortar ready. It's time to force their hand. Chronos. We will need you to momentarily disable the EM field for the mortars to be accurately targeted.

"Yes sir." Her voice sounded small, betraying her doubts.

"We don't have time for second guesses."

"I know!"

"We agreed to this. All of us."

"I didn't expect-"

"None of us did, Chronos." Hermes tapped a one of his wrists. "We can't afford more delays. Please disable the EM barrier. It's going to get a lot worse before it's all over, you know."

"It's done." Her voice had slipped back on it's professional facade, and she wiped away tears with her one hand.

"Mortar, engage hostiles." Hermes commanded. "Phase Two is beginning now."

***

From the newly expanded and much father away police line, it was hard to make out what was going on, even with infrared scopes active, the lot was walled off from the rest of the park.

Streaks of smoke suddenly raced into the sky from behind the walls, dozens of them, arcing up and over the walls, accompanied by a faint shrieking sound. The falling shells were fin guided. The onboard AI was rudimentary in nature, but it was enough for the small bomblets to find Police vehicles, all of which transmitted a universal IFF signal that could help friendly military units designate civilian law enforcement units in a time of crisis. This was turned against them.

The other advanced feature of the targeting AI was the ability to select where and when to detonate over identified targets for efficient dispersal of anti personnel or anti armor warheads over hostile terrain. Sixty of these fell in rapid succession over the entire police blockade surrounding Tombstone. Panic ruled as survivors picked up their comrades, or what was left of them, and ran until they could run no farther or until they felt they were safe. Some officers tried to contact the on site commander, but nobody knew that he'd died in the opening seconds of the barrage, the command van a burning metal casket amidst so many other vehicles. Some vehicles that did manage to survive were manned by more enterprising humans and reploids, and rather than simply run, they scoured the devastated blockade for survivors. Everyone expected a second strike that never came, most likely because the Mavericks had achieved their objective. For the moment, the LAPD was effectively out of the fight.

***

_Oval Office, Washington DC, 11:03 AM_

President Holden Souther had awakened four hours ago to much less exciting news that the GDC liaison was going to arrive at 8:00 AM for a breakfast meeting that would go over the usual items of interest with him before he consulted the Joint Chiefs on the exact same matters, as though somehow presenting the force deployment requests to the President alone would make the chances of spreading his military more thin across the globe that much higher. Still, though he was President Of The United States, he had his own masters to answer to, more or less. The world was united under the GDC, at least most of it was. Even in 2133, there were nations that felt no true loyalty to a world body as expansive as the GDC. It was a matter of self-interest. The United States never exactly recovered politically from the Wars of the 2040's, or the later disasters at the end of the previous century. However maligned it had become, the world, the GDC needed it, as it came part in parcel with Canada. The AmeriCanadian Alliance was still one of the largest political and military powers that remained on the planet. It supplied the GDC with a disproportionate amount of troops and weapons for its endeavors in the still recovering third world, perhaps too much, some were starting to say. Nearly a hundred years after the 2040's, and the US still found itself as the only real superpower on the globe, still found herself increasingly maligned by world opinion.

She still sent her boys and girls and reploids out to die for them.

The news that broke two hours ago called that policy back into question. Now the President sat with his Joint Chiefs and the increasingly further out of her league GDC liaison, a wall screen with CNN playing on silent on the wall behind him.

"Here's the long and the short of it." Secretary of Defense Robert Bachmann started. "Thirty minutes ago, one of the Mavericks in Los Angeles identified himself as Lieutenant Commander Hermes, command class reploid serving in the Reploid Special Forces Second Detachment, assigned to the First Armored Division, under one General Apollo, current commander of the RSF. As soon as the word broke, the FBI arrived at his headquarters in Fort Bliss, Texas, to take him in for questioning." SECDEF pointed a remote at the monitor, showing what appeared to be a shattered military installation, still burning fiercely at many places. Broken hover tanks littered the aerial photo, polycraft hangers were blasted wide open, dozens of aircraft rendered useless before they could take flight.

"This is Fort Bliss, twenty minutes ago. Casualty counts aren't going to be in for at least three days, we don't have enough people on site to make a proper Battle Damage Assessment, but it's safe to say the First Armored Division is out of action. Now, we couldn't enforce a press blackout on the situation in LA, but we have managed to keep word about Fort Bliss from spreading. We can't estimate how long we can stall for time in regards to that, however."

"Looks like your request for their deployment to Somalia is on indefinite hold, Miss Travers." The President remarked humorlessly to the GDC liaison. "So he's gone Maverick, I'm to understand."

"The entire 2nd RSF Detachment is currently missing from all our current forms of tracking." This was General Riley Culverson, Chief of Staff United States Army. "From what we can gather from the FBI team members that survived the fighting in Fort Bliss , a majority of the 2nd RSF did not show up for early morning maintenance. The leader of the FBI team never got to even see the General himself."

"We have a thousand or so reploids, all of which were designed around the concept of Delta Force, the Green Berets, you pick your favorite special forces unit in the world, running around the United States, and we have no idea where they are?" POTUS was looking less and less enthused about the meeting.

"Except for the Mavericks led by Hermes, no. We've already made use of the Emergency Destruct Protocols, and as the news has shown, we still have a living Hermes and his people. In one way, that's lucky. We do have to consider the hostages." SECDEF sighed. "We built these reploids to be ghosts. They were a proof of concept unit, irregular warfare specialists. Exemplary service records over the last fourteen years. We were able to shuffle a majority of Maverick Hunter units out of Texas and into less protected regions, thanks to them. To give you an idea, part of their training consisted of hunting down Mavericks within the state, in two man cells. Safest place in the U.S. from Mavericks."

"Was." Souther said bitterly. "I need options. Miss Travers!"

"Y-yes!"

"I need you to get me authorization from GDC High Command to relinquish control of AmeriCanadian GDC units within North America to our authority."

"I can relay the-"

"Go now." He pointed at the door to exit Oval Office. She excused herself quickly, red in the face. They waited until Secret Service agents on both sides of the door indicated the room was secured once more. "Have we gotten any motives? Any known physical objectives?"

"If the news is to be believed, Hermes is fitting what we're calling a 'classic' case of greatly increased self value among members of the 2nd RSF. If they do make an international statement, no doubt it will be about 'freedom' for all reploids." Culverson snorted. "Same thing any reploid wants. Respect. The right to live. Sigma's been at it for years hiding behind that. As of yet though, if they have an objective, we're in no way able to determine that. Maverick Hunters based in LA did deploy a team to the hostage stand off, but they were all KIA. New York HQ is currently assessing the situation before cutting orders for a larger force, but they're delaying any final decisions based on how the hostage situation turns out. We also have New Tokyo in the loop, the Japanese have offered to send the 17th and the 0 Units respectively to LA at our request. The LAPD has yet to deploy MSWAT, though according to latest reports, a local LAPD division just got hit pretty hard, their encirclement is broken. Situation is growing too fast and fluid for the civilian law enforcement, by my estimation. Regardless of whether or not we get permission to deploy our committed GDC forces, I'm recommending we move into DEFCON 3. Any objections?" Nobody opposed the idea, but no one offered their support on that issue. "It might seem drastic, but the bottom line is we have no idea what the full extent of this desertion is, or what the ultimate cost could be. We should be ready to accept open warfare against Mavericks within any major population center, and DEFCON 3 will enhance the readiness of what we do have available to move without getting GDC approval."

"Right now, the FBI is currently issuing as much non-classified information on the 2nd RSF as it can to all civilian law enforcement agencies." SECDEF threw in. "We could deploy National Guard units around major population centers, or at least start mobilization."

"There's also no real reason to start a panic. We do this quietly. It's a waiting game." President Souther reached for a pack of cigarettes in his coat pocket. "It's a waiting game, and they're taking as many turns as they want to before they decide they're tired of rolling the dice all the time."

The insistent hum of a silenced cell phone filled the room. SECDEF reached into a pocket to answer it. His eyes widened slightly.

"Vandenberg Air Force Base sent out emergency FLASH communication ten minutes ago. They reported that a squadron of twenty AH-108's took off without authorization shortly after unidentified Mavericks laid siege to the base. They've fallen silent."

***

_Los Angeles, Local Airspace, 11:45 AM_

They were still commonly used by the military, but no one who saw them expected to see so many AH-108 Tarantula Bs in the skies to the north west of the city, a precise formation flying in low from the sea. The premier ground attack polycraft/troop transport hybrid built as part of a joint project between the US and Japan, the AH-108 had served faithfully for over two decades in the combined GDC military. Though designated for attack missions, it shared more in common with a distant ancestor nearly 165 years in the past, the Mil Mi-24. The Tarantula bore the dubious distinction of being the primary form of air support that the Doppler Mavericks used to assault the New Tokyo MHHQ in 2127, the incident that put the Tarantula A on the chopping block for the Japanese military. The B manned model was a response to the terror the unmanned mechaniloids wrought on New Tokyo, and while it was nearly double the size of its predecessor, it had not lost the same imposing silhouette. A series of eight manipulators hung from the main fuselage, designed to help the AH-108 pick up cargo if necessary. Wings extended out just above the arms, with heavy ordinance slung underneath. The rear fuselage hung lower than the rest of the machine, much like the abdomen of a spider, though instead of spinnerets, a particle cannon on a rotating turret was mounted.

The Tarantula was the product of a nightmare given form.

The formation of twenty craft split into ten pairs, bearing down on the city at full speed toward different objectives.

"All units, this is Black One. Engage all hostile target facilities as they appear. Legitimate targets as discussed. Rally point is A2South. Activate your wide area jammers, and proceed with your mission objectives."

Without warning, the Tarantula pilots opened fire on the city. Guided missiles shrieked out of conformal mounted pods, tracing white streaks across the sky and into broadcasting towers. Autocannons blared, cutting through power lines leading out of energy production facilities. Some of the Tarantulas flew as low as their pilots dared, striking at support pillars for bridges and freeways. Fuel stations for civilian use were bombed.

LA Hunter HQ was hit especially hard, the small tower bombarded by six of the polycraft, but resisted despite the cost. Occasional bolts of charged plasma raced up from different floors on the tower as the Hunters fought desperately to drive back or destroy the craft. One enterprising hunter teleported as though he were fleeing, then canceled the teleport just above one of the Tarantulas in an attempt to board it, but was cut to pieces by the other five. The polycraft continued their assault. After several long minutes, the resistance from the tower died down to nothing.

***

_MSWAT Flight Operations Hanger, 12:13 PM_

It was impossible to miss what was going on just outside of the hangar. Smoke and flame clawed at the skies from countless points on the horizon and some places much closer. The buzz of the polycraft that were attacking were punctuated by echoing weapons fire all around the city. Almost the entirety of MSWAT was on the helipad itself, stunned into complete silence. They watched as LA Hunter HQ got hit with barrage after barrage in the distance. Finally, not long after the attack units left the building to its fate, a loud moan of stressed metals issued from somewhere inside it, loud even from so many blocks away, and the tower folded in half at the center of its mass, the top half crashing down onto the city below.

"No way..." Hilde managed to choke out. She knew people who worked there. She herself used to be a part of the Hunters before she was picked for MSWAT. "No freakin' way..." How many friends might have died right then?

"COVER!" Someone shouted. From seemingly nowhere, a Tarantula rose just into view from the streets below the helipad, chin mounted cannons twitching as it selected targets, the loud whine of barrels spinning up sounding a death knell. Hilde looked about wildly, and found Ricardo standing stock still, his mag rifle in hand, aiming at it, roaring in defiance, finger squeezing down on the trigger. She became vividly aware that he was standing far too close to one of MSWAT's two readied transport craft on the pad. All around him people dashed if they could, ran if they had to, but otherwise cleared out as best they could.

"RICARDO!" She screamed, willing her dash thrusters to push harder than she ever dared to tax them before. Heat warnings for her legs appeared in her vision, and she ignored them. Everything seemed slow to her, her mind working in overdrive as she calculated hundreds of factors with each passing moment as she raced at him. The math was playing out in front of her. He wouldn't even have a body, they'd be lucky to find scraps of him. Just a red smear on the flight deck. She could see herself at his parents' home once more, dressed in black, delivering the terrible news. She could see a headstone in a field somewhere.

People died all the time in this line of work. It just couldn't be him. It couldn't be today. It wasn't fair. She had carried him home just the other night, drunk and unconscious before anyone else. She helped him into his bed. They'd just swapped insults days ago, and later, an awkward drunken hug between friends that same night.

The transport next to him rattled violently, taking fire from the Tarantula now, shrapnel tearing free as it was flayed apart. She was three meters away, and could see new flames and sparks licking from the wreck and at Ricardo, see him start to flinch from the heat. She could see his eyes slowly squeezing shut from the heat, dust and metal fragments kicked up into his face. Tungsten armor piercers from the auto cannon slowly walked a path of impacts along the transport, back down the cockpit, hooking back around, kicking up metal and concrete/cordite mix towards his legs.

One meter. Her right leg thruster flashed red on another status window, then her left. All she had was inertia and prayers that physics and her own brain told her would never be answered.

Not even a body if any of those rounds hit him. Nothing but blood and memories.

Her fingertips were just reaching his face. Humans were interesting. They weren't designed by artists and other machines. Completely natural works of art, irreplaceable when gone. She'd never be able to just be with him again, never again talk SWAT business, never again go to get drinks after a long day in training, never again see movies, heckle bad acting, swap stupid jokes, help each other with weapon maintenance, anything. He, like the other humans in the unit, treated the reploids, treated _her_, like an actual person, like actual friends, and they fought and trained as hard as any reploid in the team did, for the same reasons. They never wanted to let down their friends. Not like she was about to here.

That hurt her worse than any injury or cruel words she'd endured in her short life, worse than the knowledge that her body wasn't good enough right now, wasn't fast enough, was failing her right here and now.

The threat indicators reminded her that she was now directly in the line of fire of a weapon made to kill tanks.

She would trade her life for his, if that were the price required to be paid. She knew she could be rebuilt. Ricardo Sato the human being could not. Even if she was restored without memory of her past life, she did not doubt that in the end she would still feel that he, of all people, was worth throwing everything away for, again and again.

It just wasn't fair.

_God no, not in front of me please no please no please NO NO NO NOT LIKE THIS!_

***

As soon as the explosions started ringing out over the city, Ricardo Sato made peace with his God, if he was listening. He didn't allow his inner panic show, at least he tried not to. His thoughts dwelled on his parents, living in the New Tokyo district about ten blocks away from the MSWAT building. A significantly louder detonation shook the helipad as a pair of the attack polycraft destroyed a power transformer a mile away.

Stepping away from the transport his team was about to enter when the attacks first started, Ricardo humored himself a look through the scope of his magrifle, trying to identify what was attacking the city. A basso whine filled the air, which became a roar as the view was suddenly obscured by something big, fast and dark green.

Looking away from the scope, he made out the outline of an AH-108B.

It seemed to look back at him.

"COVER!" a voice shouted.

"RICARDO!" Hilde had screamed.

The barrels of cannons meant for armored targets spun, lining up on the transport he was next to. _So, that's it then._

He felt his body tense up as the cannons roared at him. The world got almost unbearably hot, and something deafened him quite suddenly. He opened his mouth to shout back in defiance, bringing the scope back to his right eye, finger squeezing down on the trigger. Something heavy and strangely cool hit him, and the world suddenly ceased to exist.

***

The Tarantula hovered over the MSWAT pad a moment longer. Smoke issued from it, and it seemed to waver about haphazardly in the air. Armored or not, a magrifle round at that range could easily penetrate reinforced transparisteel or reactive armor in the right places. The pilot counted himself lucky to have only been hit in one of the main engines. Three out of four still meant he was operational. Firing a few auto cannon bursts for good measure to keep some heads down, the pilot gained some altitude. Spying a cluster of communications gear at the roof of the SWAT building, the pilot fried it with a single particle beam shot, watching with a reserved grin as a portion of the roof vanished in bright blue flame, rubble exploding out in every direction. Turning his attention back on the helipad, he fired another pair of missiles into it, rendering it unusable for days, at best. Another slow orbit later, and the Tarantula limped off towards other targets.

***

_**Welcome to Hollywood!**__ Historic Archive Park, 12:26 PM_

The sirens of fire department vehicles filled the air after the explosions died down in number. Occasional thunderclaps popped intermittently in the distance as something else exploded, but the attack seemed to be winding down. The hostages had all crowded the windows of their respective holding areas, some crying in terror.

"All of these people..." Chronos shook her head.

"Realism is necessary. The confusion and chaos of war is something you can read about, but to truly experience it is another." Hermes reminded her coldly. "The world has been subservient to the GDC for too long, and so have the reploids. Zephyrus! Set the hostages free. They'll not come under any harm so long as they do not attempt to harm us in any way."

"You got it, boss."

"Are we leaving this place?" Chronos pointed towards Arcology 2 South. "General Apollo is waiting."

"We're not going anywhere. We're going to dig in here. We have to assume that Hunter reinforcements will come, very soon, to save the hostages."

"We're decoys, then." The female reploid poked at the stump of her right arm.

"I never intended to hurt the hostages, only to show them a distasteful reality they've been trying to run away from. But the enemy doesn't know that. We have to assume that the GDC and more Maverick Hunters will enter the city in order to quell this uprising. The Hunters will make the hostages they believe we still have a priority, but chances are we'll still have air superiority before anyone moves against us. We will be waiting for them."

***

"Yer all free to go." Zephyrus had said simply. The reactions were immediate. People cheered, hugged, and wept. Moments before, as they were being gathered up by the reploid soldier, nearly all had believed that this was the last moments they had to live, expecting the absolute worse. Zephyrus allowed them to vent for a few minutes before interjecting. "Listen up! Los Angeles has been suppressed by our reinforcements for the time. You are free to go to your homes, but I'm gonna do the nice thing and warn you all that the GDC is definitely coming, at the behest of your government. There's gonna be quite the brawl. If my maps and information are correct, there's a Civil Defense Shelter three block south of this park, where surviving LAPD forces are defending it and taking in people under their protection. Get to them as fast as you can manage. I have no doubt that the GDC response will be anything gentle. Good luck." Without waiting for a reply, he turned his back to them and waved a hand dismissively. "Gonna sound a bit stupid, but sorry for the inconvenience. Remember what you saw and who we were, will ya?"

It took the group time to get organized, but they filed out of the false Tombstone in small groups at a time. Very few looked behind them at their former captors who watched them go without a word, and some cursed them as they walked past the still smoldering wrecks that were once an LAPD blockade.

One had stayed, standing next to the remains of the first victim of the ordeal.

"You said his name was Roland, right?" Zephyrus asked. "You sittin' here all day, or are ya leaving?"

"I want to see what Hermes was talking about." Johnny Young said quietly.

"It's gonna get ugly, kid."

"It already is."

"I'll give you that."

"Are all of you really Mavericks?"

"Sure are kid, sure are. Can't you see the insignia? Praise Sigma, all that garbage."

"If you say so."

***

_MSWAT Flight Operations Hanger, 12:35PM_

Everything was dark. Faintly, a name was called out, insistently, with each repetition sounding more and more distraught.

_Ricardo, get up! Ricardo! Please! …Please…_

Opening his eyes, he could see what appeared to be several faces, but no details. Blurry, blurry, ears ringing. Other voices could be heard now.

_He's waking up!_

_Hilde, give him some room!_

_That thing coming back around?_

_No, it's gone...sonofa-_

_Ricardo! Can you hear me?_

_We _all_ can hear you, come on, calm down-_

He heard a single sob, and whatever it was that was holding him down shook along with it. Everything cleared up in that moment. The hangar was somehow still standing. Hadn't he been outside on the flight deck? Hilde was the first face he could clearly make out, on all fours straddling him, face full of relief and fear all at once. Her mouth moved silently, not believing what she saw.

"Welcome back, Ricardo." The Captain said from off to the side. Ricardo acknowledged him with a tired nod.

"What...what'd I miss..." He felt dizzy, and he was sore all over. "Whassup, Hilde, why the face?"

"Don't. EVER. DO. THAT. AGAIN!" she shouted back. One of her fists buried itself into the cool metal deck next to Ricardo's head. "What were you THINKING? STARING DOWN ONE OF THOSE THINGS WITH YOUR STUPID POP GUN!" she yammered. "I've seen you do a lot of stupid thing since coming to this unit, but how dare you surpass my expectations as to how retardedly suicidal you are!" They stared at each other for a long moment. Her glare was marred by the tears that ran down her face, and onto his. Unable to maintain her visage, she sobbed once more, picking the human off the ground and hugging him tightly, her forehead pressed against his, eyes looking directly into his own. "You have no idea, you have no fucking idea! I thought I killed you! I didn't have a choice, I overloaded my dash system to save you and I thought I...I..."

She might have been built in a factory, she may have had a specialized artist give her the figure and the face she was bestowed with, but she was the most beautiful thing in the world right then.

"Ow...ow ow ow...hey there freight train...that hurts...I'm okay, I'm fine..."

"I'm sorry, you _asshole_! You made me do it! I thought-" She released him and took a step back, her eyes scanning him, taking everything about him in that moment in, almost doubting that he was still alive. "I..could see it happen...I saw you-" She looked away, unable to finish as he limped toward her. "Hypatiaaaaaaaaaaa!" she shouted, looking around to see if she was nearby, but found that not only was she close by and staring at the couple, but so was everyone else in MSWAT. Despite everything just now, two transports destroyed, the helipad unusable, a massive hole in the roof letting in the sunlight right down on her and Ricardo, the whole lot had the biggest grins on their faces she'd ever seen.

"We'll give you a moment to confess." Hypatia added helpfully. "You can do it!" Some people snickered. Hilde found the Captain at the center of the group, who flashed her a thumbs up with about as much subtlety as an attack polycraft dropping high explosive ordinance and focused particle beams on the building you worked in.

"Here's lookin' at you, kid." He threw in. Laughter rippled throughout the ruined hangar.

"I...hate all of you." Hilde sighed.

***

"Three cracked ribs, no concussion, somehow. You dislocated your right shoulder, and though we've managed to deal with that, no matter what happens, I am recommending we take you off of the roster and keep you here until you fully recover." Hypatia sounded as clinical as she always did when she was trying to drive home a point. "She didn't mean to, but she burned out the dash systems in both legs to get you out of harms way, and in doing so, got you injured. It should have been like a car flying at full speed into you. But even while beside herself, she managed to maneuver in such a way to keep you safe. Relatively. There's a reason why The Captain picked her for the unit, some of the best control over her systems I've ever seen, but even then, it wasn't enough to stop you from getting injured."

"She saved my life." Ricardo croaked as he sat back up. The pain was dulled by medication, but flared up sharply through the drugs occasionally.

"Not disputing that, just stating the facts."

"That's why you didn't let her in here."

"I just can't work when I have a crying woman in my office." Hypatia tossed Ricardo his shirt. "Be honest with me, you're not going to take my advice, and you will insist on going whenever The Captain gives the word?"

"The city is practically under lockdown. I can't get a hold of my mother and father, thanks to the jamming, these Mavericks also took out our Hunter HQ, our chain of command is in shambles, and the LAPD is avoiding engagements with the Mavericks, which means we have almost no logistical or tactical support for the time being, meaning that we aren't getting orders. You better believe I am staying on the roster."

"Legally, I can't restrain you, I can only make suggestions. I suggest you get a good handle on what it is you can and cannot do before you pretend you're going to be any use to the unit as things stand." Hypatia jabbed a slender finger at Ricardo's forehead. "If you get yourself killed, I will personally find a way to pull your wretched soul from whatever piece of hell is reserved for the kind of person who'd happily leave behind a woman who unconditionally loves them, and take turns with said person at beating you about the head and shoulders."

"I'm not intending to die."

"You might not have a choice. Be careful." Hypatia frowned. "Okay, I guess I've said my piece. Get out, I've got other injuries to look at, I'm sure. We're lucky that you're the worst injured of us all." She collapsed into a seat, looking forlorn. "I'm...a little scared, to be honest. We were too lucky. It's going to get really bad...and I don't like the thought of having to decide which life saving operation has greater priority among my family, do you understand?"

***

_What is it about him?_

Hilde's face lit up as soon as Ricardo stepped out of Hypatia's office, and she walked over to him, spinning once to make sure nobody else was around. She walked up to him a ways but stopped just beyond arms length, her eyes seemed to inspect him, and she reached out with a hand tentatively.

"I'm standing aren't I?" He poked her outstretched palm with a finger

"I'm concerned, jackass." She grabbed his fingertips and pulled him slightly closer, her fingers interlocking with his.

"Training has hurt me worse." He smiled weakly. "You did save my life. Not your fault you're a full metal running back. Do you see me complaining?"

"You should sit this out." Her voice wavered slightly. "The Captain says the GDC has reported that they will be sending an appropriate response, but with the jamming we're not sure of the specifics. Apparently the GDC Security Council is in an uproar, but that's all we can figure out. The net has been locked down..." She gripped his hand tighter. "Look! We're definitely going to get orders to move in on the hostage situation soon. We don't have support of any local Hunter Units at the moment, and we know we're up against a military unit! Don't you understand what I am trying to say to you?"

"We'll wait until we get the orders. The Captain makes the final decisions." Ricardo said. "Unless he says otherwise, I will be involved."

"You really suck, you know that?" Hilde growled through clenched teeth. "I'm your fucking point man, it's my job to look out for you and everyone else behind me, and you are making it real hard to do that right now."

"We've been giving each other a hard time since I joined this outfit." Ricardo Sato smirked his trademark, somewhat assholish, confident smirk.

"You're also terrible at drinking. How can you be so bad at holding your alcohol? There are human teenagers that drink more than you do without the same problem." She chuckled, releasing his hand, turning away. "But you're a good shot, and you always have kept up with me and the others, even when the training got intense. You never quit. Who the hell am I to stop you now, right?" She took a deep breath. "It's what I like about you."

"Couldn't you have said that earlier?"

"In front of all of them?" She poked him in the forehead, causing him to stumble back a step. "Are you kidding me? I'd die!"

"I'm sure your ballistic armor can handle embarrassment." Ricardo poked her back on a shoulder, used to the fact that she was practically an immovable wall to him. "You get your legs fixed up?"

"They're gonna mount secondaries on the sides of my boots, temp fix really, but it'll give me roughly similar bursts of speed. It'll have to do."

"Told you to watch yourself using those things."

"Yeah yeah. Hey. C'mere."

Nobody was around to laugh at their embrace this time.

"In the movies, usually the girl is the one who stands on her toes when they do this part. They also have some sorta of dramatic music." He was whispering in her ear.

"Shaddup, I'm enjoying this. Jackass."

The world as they knew it may have started to fall apart around them, but for that moment, it didn't matter.


	7. To Serve And Protect: Part 2

**MEGA MAN X: FROM THE SIDELINES**

A Collaborative Collection

**To Serve and Protect: Part 2**

By Alexander 'RoyFokker99th' Musa

* * *

On monitors and displays tuned into various news organizations worldwide, a reploid in black armor, with the familiar Maverick insignia that terrorized the world so many times before, sat behind a desk in a well lit office, staring at a camera with eyes that seemed to look far beyond it. Green eyes unblinking, taking in every detail of the environment before him. His expression was blank, but the scars on his face spoke much of what he'd seen in his life as a soldier. Analysts were already calling him a generic commander class humanoid reploid, a design used frequently by GDC units as 'supervisory theater commanders', but scars that could easily be erased still remained. He was a warrior. On his chest were campaign ribbons, medals of accomplishments, polished to a mirror sheen, much like the rest of his form. Easily eight feet tall, massive compared to any standard human. His hair was military in precision, shaved short, in order to fit in with human standards

"Good afternoon. My name is General Apollo, Commander of the United States Army Second Reploid Special Forces Battalion. I am also a Maverick, as is the entirety of my command. This morning, we have taken steps to awaken the AmeriCanadian Alliance, no, the world, to the harsh reality of what the GDC represents. The GDC, a lazy, corrupt world body that treats the lives of humans and reploids as a mere statistical value, components in a system that they profit from, and exploit others in the maintenance and the defense of such a system. A world body that feigns regret at the continuing disorder on the African continent, while readily and eagerly sending my kind to the brink of the gallows in 2124, while still commissioning the various military powers of our world to create Reploids like myself to perform black operations across the entire globe."

"We have done our duties as soldiers to the United States with dignity and pride, only to watch as the GDC further tarnishes the reputation of the nation who built us, forces us to watch as they continually allow the Maverick Sigma to rampage across the globe. We have killed men, women, children, reploids of all walks of life, to allow the GDC to maintain the status quo, a peace enforced at gunpoint. In the years after the Second World War, a relative peace was enforced by nuclear weapons, chemical weapons, biological weapons. Even that was not enough to stop humanity. Now, the world once again exists in fear of a new threat, that of Mavericks, that of Sigma. It is a culture of fear, engineered by politicians who only seek to solidify their grip over world affairs, feigning the inability to properly deal with the Maverick Problem, while still in control of the largest, most extensive military power the world has ever seen. While nations fall apart in the still recovering Third World, the GDC's focus has been on Mavericks, and by association, reploids."

"Their deception ends today. My forces currently hold the city of Los Angeles, California hostage. We have savaged their local police forces with precision attacks on key facilities, and rendered the Maverick Hunter Headquarters of the city a complete ruin. The city, in essence, belongs to my people and myself. We also have taken over Arcology Two South, one of the largest military installations of the United States, and have converted it's mechaniloid defenses to serve the purpose of our rebellion. In addition to this calculated blow to US/GDC material and manpower, we have over six thousand human and military reploid hostages in this building alone, not to mention the city itself is our hostage. We are prepared for the consequences of our actions."

"By midnight this evening, should the GDC refuse to formally recognize the errors of 2124, their continued misguidance of the world, and release all information pertaining to a military station known as Ice Beacon, we will destroy Arcology Two South. We do not mean to harm civilian life, but it is fact that civilians are caught up in war, regardless of the best of intentions. This is a war, make no mistake. We are absolutely capable of delivering on our threat. We will not hesitate. We ask that you do not hesitate yourselves, leaders of the GDC, in making the correct choice in response to this matter. We will not execute our hostages, but we fully expect and are prepared for you to throw their lives away to brush aside another 'mere' Maverick Rebellion. As such, we will defend this city to our best ability from your heavy-handed tactics until our demands our met, regardless of the fate of Arcology Two South. This is no mere battle for reploid rights. This is a battle to eliminate a harmful parasite that governs far more power than it should. If you truly are governed by reason, you will accede to our demands. If our conditions our met, we will disarm without resistance, and submit ourselves to the appropriate punishment. We have all prepared for this."

"You have ten hours, fifty six minutes, thirty one seconds before the deadline. The ball is in your court."

***

_Oval Office, 1:05PM_

President Souther stared incredulously at the screen as the statement played out. He looked at his Chiefs of Staff as it ended, and found that they looked about as surprised as he felt.

"What the hell is Ice Beacon?" General Culverson asked for everyone in the room. Just then, the GDC Liason had the very poor timing of returning to the room, and met the hardened stares of everyone gathered.

"Miss Travers, I want you to go contact the GDC Security Council and request and immediate information release on all things pertaining to Ice Beacon to everyone in this room." The President snapped.

"What is going on?" She asked, looking very bewildered.

"Find out what their military response will be for Los Angeles while you're at it! Time is short!"

"What is going on!?"

"The Mavericks have given us a deadline, and have implicated some very interesting things. I need a response, Miss Travers!"

***

_MSWAT Briefing Room, 1:05PM_

The Captain was with the rest of his teams watching the broadcast. Hilde and Ricardo had come in during the later half, and were brought into the discussion that had started and grown more active as the news went back to being filled with heavy static after the declaration ended. Everyone save for himself. He stood away from the others, leaning against a wall, eyes closed. Planning, reminiscing.

_Not enough people for A2South. Casualty rate 100 percent, unacceptable, scenario three hundred six fails. Scenario three hundred seven, Park hostages, success rate 45 percent, casualties, 18, MSWAT effectiveness reduced by nearly half, scenario three hundred seven fails._

_Think goddamnit! We need a plan of action we can walk away from! You were built for this!_

_You went and finally did it, didn't you One, or Apollo, whatever you call yourself. The world isn't going to change. No matter what. Not like this. Did you come to that conclusion yourself, but refused to believe what the calculations came out to? Did you finally learn to see past the numbers, see past the streaming data scenarios, and went with your emotions?_

"Had to take this long, didn't you." The Captain said to himself._ I quit for a reason. You didn't understand at the time, but you do now, I'll bet. You do now._

***

_Arcology Two South Airspace, 1:25 PM_

The GDC response was lightning fast when compared to their past efforts to deal with large scale Maverick Uprisings. They'd sent a pair of aerial carriers that had been moving steadily closer to Los Angeles airspace as events had unfolded. They had given themselves options with which to strike if things did get bad, and they did. It was rare and commendable to see the GDC combined forces act with that much foresight for such rapidly changing situations. The two carriers launched a total of a hundred strike craft, keeping a portion in reserve in case the strike failed.

They had two missions. The first was to destroy all twenty polycraft that the Mavericks had appropriated from Vandenberg AFB, the currently known source of the wide range jamming that enveloped most of the city. The second was to eliminate the local ground control system that was being used to hack satellites into crating a 'pinpoint' beam scattering warp bubble around the vicinity of A2South, preventing any GDC reploid forces from getting inside, but that wasn't quite the intention at this point. It wasn't overt, but Apollo's broadcast had already shaken GDC command enough that the use of reploid ground forces was seriously in question. A request from MHHQ New Tokyo to join the fray had come and gone, answered with a terse standby order. For now, they were to engage their targets, and after accomplishing those objectives, the fighters would fall back.

The Tarantulas did not stand a chance. The superior ranged armament of the fighters was simply too much for the polycraft. Even though they'd rearmed back at A2South, they hadn't had a chance to fight back. The mop up of the Tarantulas took all of five minutes, engaged well beyond the range of their own defenses, the machines crashing into the city below, worthless hulks of metal and unexploded ordinance. Some units fell into civilian housing, despite the best efforts of their pilots or the support AI to keep such a thing from happening. Some craft were so thoroughly destroyed by the missile strikes that stray missiles propelled themselves in a search pattern for further targets over the city before falling into the already shaken Los Angeles. Panic gripped the neighborhoods they fell into, and while none exploded, there were not nearly enough civil service workers available to get to all of the stricken areas.

With the first objective cleared, the strike craft turned to face A2South, and prepared a second strike. Hundreds of contrails broke free from the formation of GDC fighters, angling in on the waiting technological monolith. Explosions rippled in the sky around the arcology. The fight was on.

Initially, it appeared that a good percentage of the automated defenses were wiped out, but as the GDC fighters closed in, they were immediately set upon by mechaniloid drones that swarmed up from one of several visible hangars before being sealed off by missile strikes, but the furball only seemed to get worse, as drone and manned fighter mixed it up. Ground defense mechaniloids opened up with barrages of missiles and AA fire, not sharing the same concern for friendly fire that the GDC pilots had. It became apparent that the GDC fighters were going to be overwhelmed, and they disengaged as best they could, having incurred severe losses.

At this point the GDC carriers made their presence felt, their artillery batteries leveling at the arcology's defenses, heavy particle beams lashing out and walking along parts of the structure, burning down weapon emplacements and drones all the same. AA fire from both carriers hunted down packs of drones that chased the fleeing fighters. It seemed at first that the battle was fairly even, which seemed incredulous to the GDC commanders.

As they gathered themselves for a second strike, hangers opening to launch another flight of fighters, hundreds of streaks of light exited the arcology quite suddenly, materializing as black armored reploids hundreds of feet away from the flight decks of both carriers, just outside their EM warp bubbles. The 2nd RSF Battalion had struck back in the way it knew best.

***

_MSWAT LA HQ, 1:46 PM_

They once numbered very few. This was now the height of the Maverick Hunters. They hadn't seen numbers like this since before the First Uprising. They now came bringing justice, at last seeing a modicum of the support they had deserved over the years. Exactly two hundred beams of light streaked down just outside of Maverick Hunter Special Weapons and Tactics Los Angeles, rain of a different kind. This was a storm that had been brewing from as far away as New Tokyo. This was a storm of retribution, a living statement against Mavericks everywhere.

"Hey, we're all still in one piece." A man in azure armor remarked, looking around him. Next to him, another famed figure, lined in crimson, trailed by blond hair, slapped the shoulder of the blue figure.

"I'm liking Signas more and more these days, X, I'm tellin' you! Slapping together deployment orders for _ex post facto_ clearance of it all, and giving Control a heart attack and authorizing full deployment of the 17th, the 21st and the 0 unit? All in direct defiance of GDC 'suggestions' to stay out of it? Can't believe he's the same Signas, I wanna give him a beer."

"Couple years ago Zero, I'd have never believed you saying any real praise for him. We wouldn't be able to even consider this had we not gotten a sorely needed expansion." X, the Blue Bomber of 21XX and the Crimson Hunter turned to face their gathered units. "Alright everyone, for the moment, we officially are not here, but Signas will take care of that. The 21st unit will be here shortly, which will bring us up to three hundred Hunters, plus whatever we can take from the locals. Form a security perimeter around this building, Zero and I are going inside."

***

"They are really going at it." Hypatia sighed. It was impossible to not hear what was going on outside despite how far away as it was. She'd finished patching up another patient, and after he'd left her office, she decided to read what the 'net had to say about what was going on.

She admitted to herself that part of Apollo's speech appealed to her. She had no love for the GDC, especially after 2124. Even if it had retracted its previous, overt distrust of reploidkind, the attempted sentencing of her race to extinction wasn't exactly something you let go of very easily. She couldn't. It had led to problems before. She had been one of the more vocal reploids in the unit in opposition to integrating humans in their work. It was just asking to get people killed, and they were hardly trustworthy. How wrong had she been, people like Ricardo had broken through her shell. Hypatia was glad to have met him and the other humans in the team, which was why she worked as hard as she did. She'd been fortunate enough

The building shook, and a titanic rumbling filled the air from the distance. Running to the window, she had a very good view of what was happening near one of the arcologies, Two South, she guessed. She saw a massive fireball in the sky, consuming itself in its fury, sending debris in every direction, raining down on the city and the arcology. _That can't be good at all._ She waited a moment longer, and caught sight of a GDC air carrier veering away from the remnants of the blast, flames belching from several locations as well. _Looks like they started before they were prepared, the reckless bastards, and they aren't doing so well for it._ Hypatia blinked several times, and sent a video file of the conflagration to The Captain. _He'll want to see that, might be able to analyze that._ She rushed out the door of her office, not waiting for his reply, and ran face first into two reploids, falling flat on her ass.

"Ack! Hey, real sorry about that I'm-" Her mouth dropped open. "Oh my..."

"Hey lady, you know where your CO is?" The blond one of the pair helped the smaller reploid to her feet. He wore a bemused look on his face.

"He should be on the top floor, the flight deck...can't miss it, it'll be the room that looks like a tornado had fun in there...hi I'm Hypatia." Her gaze traveled back and forth between the blue reploid and the red one.

"Thanks very much." The blue one blinked at her several times, reading her nametag. "Oh, you're the chief medical officer?"

"Yeah, totally the medical officer..." _What the hell are _these_ two here for?_

"Good to know! I'll send one of my people, they're going to be at your disposal. No need to shift around the way things work here, right?

"Sure...I mean, sure!"

"Nice to meet you! Zero, lets get topside. Signas sent some intel just now, I'm sure the CO of the SWAT team will appreciate it."

"Lead the way, X." They two hustled off towards an elevator, Zero turning back to call to the still starstruck Hypatia. "Sorry we ran into you, literally!"

"Oh no, nonono...pleasure was all mine..." She watched as the two jumped into the elevator. X waved at her again as the door closed. She managed to twitch an arm in response, mouth still wide open.

***

The Captain was still deep in thought when he heard the television get muted and people started gasping with surprise. Eyes snapping open, he looked around and spied something that even managed to shock him just a little bit.

"I'm Commander X of the 17th Maverick Hunter Unit out of New Tokyo, here with Commander Zero of the 0 Unit. We'd like to speak with your commander, if that is possible."

"Holy shit!"

"Is that THE X?"

"You serious?"

"Dude, Zero!"

"No frackin' way!"

"When did you get here sirs?"

"Oh man are you a sight for sore eyes!"

"Stop looking at his ass Lalah, I called dibs way before you were even activated!"

"Hey hey hey! You can't call dibs that's not fair!" The two heroes exchanged a glance with that comment.

"Is she really staring at my-" X started to whisper at Zero.

"Oh yeah." Zero faked a sniffle. "I'm jealous, good buddy, really am."

"Alright alright, settle down people." The Captain said out loud. "You'd think you're all children!" He walked up to the pair and smiled. "Well hell, even I have to admit some surprise. I'm The Captain, commander of MSWAT LA."

"Captain...?" X fished for a name.

"Just The Captain. I take it you're here to discuss what we're going to do about this whole mess?"

"Something like that. We're not actually here. Yet."

***

_The White House, 1:57PM_

"Tell your people to back off, now! You realize that you just had _two _air carriers, that we built at your procurement requests, be destroyed on international broadcast news, raining debris and firepower down on the city you ordered them to defend, in the loosest sense, I might add, without informing ME that you'd resort to an artillery barrage on merely the Southwestern United States Aerospace Command Arcology! With hostages inside it, and civilians indirectly affected in the city!" President Souther wasn't known for his patience with delays or answers he did not like. His knuckles were turning white from how hard he gripped onto the phone.

"Yelling at me isn't going to help the situation, Mister President." The GDC commander on the other end of the call responded, as dispassionate as the President was furious. "We determined that a limited strike from our aerial assets-"

"Limited? That was _limited?_"

"We could have used the main guns on both carriers. In any case, our immediate goal has been achieved. We will be sending in-"

"Absolutely nothing. Get any ships you have en route out of our airspace, or consider them forfeit. We will have our own available assets deal with this situation, General Krieger."

"Are you implying that you will fire upon GDC assets?"

"Get them out of the vicinity of Los Angeles. No further discussion will be had. We'll be taking this to the Security Council!"

"Indeed." The general hung up. Collapsing in his chair and shutting off the wireless phone, the President took in a few calming breaths before leaning forward.

"Send a request to the New Tokyo branch of Maverick Hunters, we want the best they have. My approval supersedes GDC authority at this time. Get the New York HQ on the horn as well. General Culverson, what do we have available for a military response at this time?"

"I'm still getting updates on my data interface, but initial assessment says we can consider storming the Arcology, as the defenses have been dealt a considerable blow. Both carriers were destroyed from within, so we can assume the Mavericks did take losses getting aboard and accomplishing that objective. We can turn it to our advantage. You'll also love this, sir, but I received an immediate update from one Commander Signas, New Tokyo has already sent over the 17th, the 0, and the 21st units to assist local law enforcement. Seems they anticipated the call."

"Excellent. Get on the horn to Admiral Steinbeck, and have him detach the Fifth Marine Expeditionary Unit from the _USS John F. Kennedy's_ carrier group for them to immediately return to the mainland. Even if this gets settled before they arrive, they can at the least block off an escape by sea."

"They're slated for Somalia." SECDEF reminded Souther.

"I'm reassessing our commitment to the GDC at this time."

***

_MSWAT LA, 2:00 PM_

"Signas sent me the confirmation. The US government officially requests our immediate deployment. We arrived fifteen minutes from now, if anyone asks." X grinned before turning serious. "We have two problems, Captain. First, the hostages at the historical park, then there's the Arcology. Even with the assembled teams I'm bringing, and your SWAT unit, that's currently only three hundred and fifty combat capable reploids against a battalion strength military unit, who are proven dangerous. The GDC just lost two carriers, so I want to operate under the assumption that the Mavericks incurred losses, but let's be realistic here."

"I would like to lead the Charlie and Delta elements of my people on the hostage rescue in the park. The LAPD is apparently mobilizing a larger force we can use as cover for our deployment and resolution of that situation."

"I can accompany you, and I can take a pair of squads from the 17th, and a total of six snipers from all three units." X looked at Zero. "That'll leave the Arcology to you, whatever else I haven't taken with me, and any local support we get. The good news is New York is sending their 63rd and the 99th, it'll total our known assets to five hundred and fifty Hunters."

"You got it. We'll take any available transport to get in close under the assumption they'll have a warp bubble ready for us if we try to hit the top floors of the Arcology. It'll be my priority to retire this General Apollo and anyone else who may be in command alongside of him."

"If you can, take at least him alive. I have some questions." X grimaced. "It's Repliforce all over again."

"...Yeah."

"I would also appreciate that." The Captain looked distant for a moment. "I need to know a few things myself."

"I'll do what I can. Can't promise I'll be pullin' any punches." Zero tapped the handle of his Z-saber gently. "Considering how fast they killed a team of Hunters, I'm going in expecting bears and lions."

They continued planing for another fifteen minutes. The Captain was impressed. They actually seemed like the genuine article. He was grateful, without them, he would have to stand by and do nothing while the city went to pieces, an unacceptable outcome. It was a long time coming, but MSWAT was finally going to counterattack. Alpha and Bravo teams would accompany Commander Zero and hopefully meet up with reinforcements from New York. The Captain would take Charlie and Delta, and with the help of X and his hand picked people, would deal with the Historical Park situation. It was a long time coming, but MSWAT was finally going to counterattack.

***

_**Welcome to Hollywood!**__ Historic Archive Park, 2:35PM_

The war had truly started without them, and for that, Hermes was thankful. They'd spent the time watching their own perimeter, making little to no actual moves. Despite the chaos in the city, the LAPD had to be commended for their commitment to the hostages supposedly left behind in Tombstone. A second, significantly larger force of civilian law enforcement had arrived, though it was unlikely they were to do anything but put on a show of force. Most likely, MSWAT was on the way.

That could present a problem. Conditions were worsening, but he was confident they could maintain the attention of the enemy long enough that General Apollo could benefit from it in some way. It was an interesting situation. Chronos effectively had cut off any real forms of electronic probing, but also denied Hermes and his people any real way to do the same and have a better understanding of what was happening, beyond seeing with their own eyes.

His body flickered into view intermittently, and he frowned while ducking back into the saloon. The cloaks were hardly perfect. In good weather and proper environments, he would be practically invisible, but the smoke from the failed first blockade, on top of the dust being kicked up by increasing winds made them less effective. They probably had very little time before they failed altogether.

Looking back into the saloon, he caught sight of the young man, Johnny, studying the reploid from afar. Even now, alone among machines, he did not seem frightened.

"I suppose I should answer that question of yours." Hermes said abruptly, sitting down next to Johnny in the saloon. "I am unsure how much time we have left. Are you holding up well?"

"You really don't act like Mavericks under Sigma's control." Johnny was leaning back in his chair, mopping up sweat from his brow. "So what's the excuse?"

"In 2125, I held a human male approximately your age as he bled to death somewhere inside of former state of Rwanda. He'd had his arms and legs severed with a handsaw. There was nothing I could do for him, or for the seven hundred others we found just like him, half buried in the ground." The reploid began rubbing his hands together absently as he spoke, faster and faster, as though something clung to them still. "They'd been warnings for the GDC Task Force. 'Go Home!' was carved into each of their bodies."

"Oh my God."

"General Apollo requested orders to move against the local warlord who claimed responsibility, again, and again, and again. The GDC refused to act for months. We sat inside the former French embassy, our makeshift headquarters, while a nightmare repeated itself outside of its walls. Eventually, GDC peacekeepers themselves began to fall victim, then civilian reploids who were working as part of food distribution. We requested authorization every single day to engage the hostile militias that were continuing their little war. Finally, in June of that year, we were given permission to act." Hermes had fallen into a monotone, staring through his human hostage now. "We killed armed guerillas almost as soon as we found them. We were methodical, and they stood no chance against our advanced weaponry and capabilities. We called down satellite strikes, mass driver projectiles onto meetings. We left the plasma seared and melted hulks of their rudimentary vehicles for them to pick through and realize that they had called down the thunder. We drove them out of the cities and the shantytowns. We took no prisoners, unless ordered otherwise. Every battle, as short or as long as they-"

"Stop it!"

"-might have lasted, unless we were ordered otherwise, we took no prisoners. Even when they begged for mercy, even when they pleaded to God, we let none survive unless ordered otherwise. We killed with our busters, our magpistols and rifles, our beam sabers, our hands and our feet. We did it all under orders. The situation only continued to deteriorate. Civilians fled to other neighboring states, and despite all we had done, the GDC Task Force left the little country to its fate, losing hundreds of lives over the course over the ordeal, leaving as early as September that same year. For only mere hundreds of lives, we would abandon millions. On September 10 2125 my battalion was the last official unit in that task force to leave. Rwanda ceased to exist as a recognized state in the GDC charter by the end of the year." Hermes stood to leave. "Our actions cannot be justified today, but the world has never worked on the concept of absolute good and evil. Regardless of the cost, the GDC, with its misdirected focus and rule, must be challenged."

"What the hell, man! Why fight more, after all of that? Why even bother?"

"Reploids were built to serve and protect humanity. Even if the GDC brings our kind to another trial, even should they make war upon us, we were built to serve and protect. Nothing more, nothing less."

***

"Hermes, our cloaks are now dropping on their own, the systems can't keep up with the shifting air environment any longer. Anyone outside is going to be completely visible within minutes at this rate unless we move to a better location." Chronos reported quietly. "My own cloak is completely shot, the damage I've sustained is too much for the auto repair system to handle maintaining the cloak and reinforce what's left of my arm."

"We weren't relying on them to work for a second ambush, if it came down to it." Hermes sighed. "You're also concerned about the arrival of more LAPD vehicles?"

"It's a second defense cordon, just beyond the first. They have their own EM field too, I can't penetrate it to tap their comms. My sound recognition confirms Land Chasers, but I can't determine the numbers."

***

Talent at sniping wasn't exactly something to be incredibly proud of, Guernica thought. It was just another impersonal way to kill, and given what he was, a reploid, more specifically, one of the premier sharpshooters out of MHHQ New Tokyo, he was not only blessed with some of the best maintenance a reploid could ask for, he was able to focus absolutely every part of his body dedicated to the task of a single shot without fail, without variation, every time. He had no nervous ticks, no need to steady his hands and time his breaths to the beat of a heart. He could hear everything with nearly unerring accuracy for significantly farther than a human could, and he could shoot with or without a scope with literally no change in his accuracy, with enough actual intel, of which he had plenty now. He had it easy.

For not being a Hunter, The Captain of the SWAT unit really knew his game. Using infrared snoopers, he was relaying target data to Guernica and the other five snipers X had brought along to help the LAPD put an end to this particular brushfire. It didn't look good, as far as everyone preparing to move in could tell there was only one human hostage still on the premises alive, with no sign of any others.

"Hey X, they're movin'." He whispered.

"We see it, Guer. Captain, we'll move on your go."

"Pick your targets and call that you have them." The Captain responded.

Guernica found himself picking out a sniper immediately, calling it into the comm. He checked his magrifle once more for any potential issues, and centered on the victim's head._ Really are military, aren't you? You people know what's coming, running around like that, but leaving your snipers to stand watch for people like me... Or maybe, you choose to stand watch, to guard your friends to the bitter end, knowing your cloaks are burning out, knowing they couldn't hide your heat sigs from people like me, prepared as well as you are right now._

He was nearly three thousand meters away. The round he would fire would slice through the air and kill his target in just under two seconds. There was no chance the fin guided magnetically propelled shot would miss.

"Check the one with a single arm, she's the only one without a cloak." Another sniper reported, this one somewhat closer to the location than he was. "Looks important, seeing some antennae. Think she's their e-warfare source? Got her sighted."

"Always pickin' out the cripples, Lao." Another sniper remarked humorlessly. In short order, six Mavericks had been marked for retirement.

"We're ready, Captain." Guernica reported a moment later. _Pretty grim group, aren't we?_

"Their snipers need to go first. Call them down the moment they are, we will move in. Anyone of them who goes to collect their weapons will be your next priority. Try to avoid killing their commander outright. He's mine."

_Sounds personal._ That threw Guernica. The Captain guy didn't seem like the type to hold a grudge or mark prey. _Not my problem._

"Snipers, go loud in five, four, three-"

***

"Hermes, they're gonna try something real soon!" Chronos called out, sounding increasingly worried. "Land Chasers sounds are getting louder, revving up-"

It was never possible to forget the sound of a sniper hitting his target when it was someone you knew, and not you yourself, and worse so with the advent of the magrifle. It was an incredibly distinct high frequency shriek just before impact, accompanied with the sound of wet cloth or metal, plastics and silicon tearing apart, amplified by dozens of times. Then, maybe seconds later, you would hear the distant report of the sniper's shot. By then, a second one meant for you was headed your way. One trained themselves to react in a specific way to a sniper, as seconds counted and movement to cover increased your chances of survival. You always wanted to be the sniper, and not the one being sniped, at the end of the day.

Hermes had known that his own shooters were the most likely to die first, as had they had very limited intelligence options available to them. Even with their military gear, they had no satellites to mark targets for them, cut off by the LAPD EM field. They could not have possibly seen death thousands of meters away. They could not have seen everywhere at once.

Chronos' head simply vanished. The wooden wall she had been standing next to was sprayed with component circuitry and deep red reploid blood, her body falling limp immediately and collapsing in a heap in the doorway she was exiting. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard the similar sounds of his snipers being taken down, and two others. This was the answer of the world to their rebellion, the answer to the challenge they'd posed by quickly killing the Hunters from before.

"CHRONOS!" Zephyrus screamed, leaping towards the position one of the snipers had occupied. The initial surprise was gone now. It was a race of the analytical minds. Everyone knew where those shots came from now, simply trajectory guess work. They had seconds to counterattack before they moved.

In the distance, Land Chaser engines roared. They were coming.

***

Guernica was stunned with how fast the Mavericks responded to the attack, even though they reacted as anticipated and three of them immediately took up the arms of their fallen snipers to counterfire, while the others rushed towards the south entrance of Tombstone. He had sight of one, a commander type, but not the guy The Captain wanted.

He was looking at Guernica, newly acquired magrifle leveled, finger already on the trigger, weapons already shifting for last moment adjustments. His face wore an expression Guernica wouldn't forget. Entirely blank, save for the to the end.

The red dot rested on the Maverick's right eye, right down the scope, and he squeezed the trigger as a puff of smoke and arc of electricity left the Mavericks' weapon. Guernica was already on the move.

It was a near miss, but it may as well been a hit. A human would have been paste. Guernica was tossed over the side of his perch, helped along by the shock wave of the passing super sonic round. He was still alive, and still in the fight. Securing his weapon, he sprinted towards his waiting Land Chaser. Traffic was practically nil, he could ride as reckless as he wanted, and he had to. Now that the fight was joined, long distance sniping like this was as dangerous to friend and foe alike. Every second he and the other snipers were unavailable for closer ranged overwatch meant his friends were in mortal danger.

***

Zephyrus dropped the weapon, dash thrusters blaring and pushing him to the side, through a wooden railing off the side of the building as a round annihilated the rifle and a good part of the wooden roof. "STAY AWAY FROM THE WEAPONS, THEY'LL PICK YOU OFF IF THEY SEE YOU'RE A SNIPER!"

It was too late for two more of his brothers, but he joined Hermes' side, and felt somewhat vindicated that no further fire came down upon them.

"Zephyrus, they're rushing with Land Chasers to the south, this isn't SWAT tactics! Watch for warp ins to our rear! Meet their cavalry head on, take what you can get your hands on and immediately escape from this area, assume they have a warp bubble! Split up once we've disengaged, make your way to A2South!"

"They killed her!" Zephyrus snarled, pulling free his beam saber from its charging pack, igniting it and dashing ahead of Hermes, roaring as though he were a wounded beast.

"Control yourself!" Hermes shouted at his second in command.

***

"Sniper team, move in, hold your fire until you are within the park perimeter!" X shouted into his comm, gunning the engine of his Land Chaser and shooting out ahead of the rest of the two MSWAT teams, the detachment from the 17th following him close behind, busters armed and charging.

"My people, follow me!" The Captain lead his two squads on a different course away from X's charge, meaning to flank the Mavericks. Ten seconds, and they would make contact.

***

"CONTACT RIGHT!" one of his men shouted. Hermes looked and saw a pack of Land Chasers. Zephyrus was already charging straight at another. They were already flanked, and lacked the speed and mobility to properly counter this. He snapped his buster up and took aim at the lead rider, and his mouth dropped open in recognition. _Number Four!_

**Maximum safe charge confirmed for plasma buster. Caution: Heat levels critical, recommend immediate discharge.**

_Override, ignore safety protocols._

**Order confirmed. Continuing to charge. Caution: Magnetic bottling field unstable. Recommending immediate discharge.**

Thunder visited the opening of the battle as Hermes unleashed his charged plasma, a pale blue superheated flame, unstoppable by anything short of the thickest armor. 'Number Four' ditched his Chaser without hesitation moments before it was swallowed whole by the barely controlled disaster, atomized even before anything potentially explosive could react to the sudden heat surge. 'Four' came down hard, rolling once before taking to his feet during his roll, sliding at Hermes at great speed, his own buster leveled and whining it's own willingness to unleash fury at the Maverick. The countershot was just as terrifying to witness, boiling past Hermes with just meters to spare, enough to prompt heat warnings for his entire right side, leveling one of the wooden buildings that made up the attraction. Reaching for his own beam saber, Lieutenant Hermes rushed at 'Four', dash thrusters spewing flame and dust in his wake.

***

Zephyrus could hardly believe what was leading the group he was charging straight into. It was a living legend. A mere B Class Maverick Hunter with comparable, if not greater amounts of actual combat experience. The Man in Blue. "X!" He shouted, unleashing a snap buster shot at the hunter, who swerved quickly out of the way, firing his own buster shot and missing by a fair margin. "Happy with being a GDC lapdog, are you?!" The Maverick jumped onto the oncoming Land Chaser, eliciting a gasp of surprise from X, while Zephyrus casually fired a second shot at one of the other hunters, ripping him in half and sending his Land Chaser barreling into another, that hunter just barely escaping with his life by leaping away.

"What are you doing?!" X shouted back, shoving his buster in the Maverick's face. "Surrender and this'll be a lot less painful!"

"If we surrender then all of the deaths we've caused will be meaningless!" A flash of orange erupted from the beam saber in Zephyrus' free hand. "What will you do, hero? Gonna fight to preserve something so ready and willing to kill us all?"

"Get...off!" X rolled the Chaser onto the side where Zephyrus clung to, knocking him off. Leaping free as it crashed through another of the wooden structures, X hit the ground running, peppering the Maverick with smaller plasma shots. Zephyrus knocked aside what he could with his saber before launching himself through the air at the Blue Bomber, tacking him, pinning him down to the ground, charged buster pointed at his face, saber pointed at his neck.

"When the world turns against you, when the chips are down, what will you do? Will you just happily serve the humans? Dutifully kill off the dissidents, like you did with Repliforce?" Zephyrus snarled. X responded by activating his dash thrusters, sending them flying along the ground, knocking Zephyrus off balance, his buster discharging into the ground relatively harmless, turning the sand and dirt to molten glass. Shoving the Maverick completely off of him, X righted himself and landed with unconscious grace back on his feet.

"You're a soldier. You know what it means to follow orders." X said, just loud enough to be heard over the melee surrounding them. "Taking hostages, killing them off down to only one survivor. You lost my sympathy a long time ago!"

"We never wanted sympathy, we only wanted you people to wake up!" Zephyrus moved first, dodging just past another charged plasma bolt, his helmet melting partially from the residual heat, armor plating distorting along his left side, while firing a burst of smaller shots. X reflexively hopped back, avoiding the burst while firing off a salvo of his own. Zephyrus was already within beam saber range. It would be impossible to miss. He thrust the orange blade forward, aiming for the red jewel on X's helmet. _Nothing personal, hero. You might even be the one who killed Chronos, but that isn't why you die here today!_

X merely held his buster up in the path of the oncoming saber, energy surging within the weapon. The saber went right into the mass of building energy with no difficulty, to the point where the hilt touched the tip of the buster cannon. There was no cry of pain, no sound of plasma melting through armor, the bitter smell of reploid blood boiling on restrained plasma. Nothing but the low growl of a charging buster shot.

"Surrender." X's eyes narrowed.

_Amazing, he used the plasma charge from my saber to augment his buster charge. He's no ordinary B rank hunter._

"I don't have any love for the GDC. I don't think I can ever forgive them for 2124. I've done a lot, in their name, to protect the world from Sigma, and people like you, with ideas, misguided as they might be. It doesn't have to be like this." The Blue Bomber of 21XX looked almost serene. "You can't force this world to change, no matter how hard you try, no matter how badly it's needed. The GDC may be corrupt, but this will only make things worse."

"I disagree." Zephyrus brought up his other hand, converting it to a buster, a charge building, aimed for X's face. His face had gained a blank expression, but X could see them now, the dried tears. He'd lost friends today, and maybe even before today. "We valued human life more than any politician, and we ended human life at their orders. They'll throw you away, hero, alongside of the rest of our kind. They'll even kill themselves to do it, to give themselves the proper excuse so they can sell it to an ignorant public. History is on my side. Unchecked, the United Nations fostered the existence of the Human Supremacy League. Unchallenged, what will the GDC visit upon us?"

"Don't do this." X pleaded. "Don't."

"Goodbye, Maverick Hunter X."

There was a bright flash.

***

The Captain and Hermes were completely immersed in their own duel. The fighting around them didn't even register as a distraction. Their whole world consisted of the reploid before them, and little else. Neither one so much as shouted or cursed the other. It was as pure a conflict could be. A man with a gun and a man with a sword leapt, dodged, kicked, punched, shot and slashed at one another, with no decisive blows exchanged.

Hermes finally found an opening, and moved to exploit it, rushing The Captain shoulder first, knocking him back and off balance, followed by a vertical slash intended to bisect him right down the middle. The Captain brought his hand and buster up, as though to stop the oncoming plasma blade with them. With just inches to spare, the roiling plasma blade stopped short of The Captain's head.

From underneath the buster, a small emitter had flipped forward, a purple beam saber lighting from it, stopping the fatal strike. If he was surprised, Hermes did not show it. He reignited his dash thrusters, bringing enough force down onto his opponent that he was forced to take a knee. Shifting his weight to the side, The Captain managed to break the clench, the hissing sound of two opposing plasma sabers further drowning out the war around them as Hermes shot past The Captain, off balance. Spinning with his new found momentum, The Captain scored the first serious blow of the fight, slicing cleanly through the Mavericks back armor plating, just missing the spinal column. Hermes hissed with the sudden pain, stepping back inside of The Captain's swinging range, flipping his saber back around in a thrust, grazing The Captain's breastplate as he backed off.

They both paused.

"So, you never really left the life behind, did you?" Hermes asked.

"I couldn't stand work in the mines. So...we have names now?" The Captain said.

"I would try to convince you to come back, but you answered me years ago."

"Yeah. Your rebellion is doomed. Thought I'd give you the courtesy of knowing. I don't want to kill you, Three."

"For someone who agreed the idea of being reduced to mere numbers was the product of racist thinking, I am surprised you refer me by my old designation." Hermes motioned at the mark his saber had left on The Captain. "You've improved."

"I've had some upgrades since then. What would you have called me if I had remained behind?"

"We would have called you Erebus. Five, or Chronos, had picked that for you."

"How is she?"

"Killed in action, three minutes, twenty three seconds ago." Hermes assumed a more aggressive stance. "You know what our goals are."

"You aren't starting a revolution. The world isn't going to learn like this."

"Perhaps the lesson is not strong enough. You were the one who asked if it ever would be."

"Lieutenant Commander Hermes. You are under arrest." The Captain stated softly. "You are ordered to surrender your weapons, and stand down."

"This is a bit beyond protocol!" Hermes snapped, lunging forward.

"I'm still doing my job! What happened to defending the United States from all enemies external and otherwise?" The Captain found himself barely able to keep up with Hermes now. He didn't understand what had changed, but he was already looking for a way to disengage from close combat, to try and wear down the Maverick with buster fire, but Hermes was simply in control now.

"We did all that and more, and what did we get? A World Trial, the GDC working behind the scenes to murder every single reploid? I get to watch as people lead by you kill our friends, all in preservation of that dated monstrosity?" Hermes swung his weapon so hard that even in defending against it, The Captain was flung free and clear into a saloon.

Smoke clouded his vision for a moment. His thermal scans showed Hermes striding towards him purposefully.

"You with the cops?!" a voice called out. The Captain looked around himself wildly and found the last remaining hostage, backed into a corner away from the hole in the wall he had just made.

"Kid! Where are the other hostages?"

"They let them all go a while ago! I'm the only one!"

"Why just you?"

"He chose to be here." Hermes answered for the young man, slicing in from above where The Captain lay prone. He managed to dodge the strike, rolling aside, only to be kicked in the midsection, sent barreling through chairs and tables and into the bar, glass shattering everywhere. His mind, somewhat shaken, detachedly noted that he was now soaked in alcoholic beverages. Hermes rushed again, slashing high. The Captain managed to duck just underneath the slash, swiping his own saber at Hermes' legs, who hopped just over the attack and planted a kick right in The Captain's face, slamming him through the wall and back outside. He rolled back up to his feet, just in time to see a buster shot fly out of the building, not more than three meters away. Warnings from his combat programs blared in his mind as he dashed to his right, knowing that despite how fast and strong he was, it wasn't going to be enough.

**Left Arm Contact Failure/Limb Not Connected! Drive system fault detected, left leg immobile, right leg connection failing, cause indeterminate, balancing system malfunction-**

A targeting reticle helpfully pointed out the oncoming Hermes, rushing out of the building like a demon possessed. The Captain stood his ground as best he could, and prepared to die.

Hermes was three meters away, spinning past The Captain's own buster shot, lashing out with his saber, slicing through the SWAT reploid's torso, just above the waist. Falling backwards, with no legs to stand on, The Captain thrust desperately forward with his remaining saber as Hermes fell onto him, roaring in victory.

***

Zephyrus awoke to warning displays, and to X staring down at him. It was over.

**Immediate Medical Attention Required! Autostasis unavailable! I.O.E. Status below minimal program retention standard! Catastrophic cranial frame damage, overall structural integrity nullified, reactor output dropping, nerve contacts to left leg, right leg, right arm severed, unable to detect left arm, right vision center failing-**

And so it went on.

"There is nothing we can do for you." X said quietly. The sounds of battle were fading. People were shouting more than shooting or swinging now.

"We..."

"Lost." X finished. "You were outnumbered, and our own snipers now have close ranged overwatch of the entire field. It's essentially over here. We've taken casualties ourselves, but people are starting to stand down."

"X...we...released them....except...for one..." X's eyes widened at the news. "Knew...this...get u-ugly...didn't want...hurt them..."

"Thank you." X leveled his buster at Zephyrus. "I can't do anything else for you now." And if Zephyrus had a chance of living beyond this day...

He would have always remembered the tears shed by a hero.

"Finish...it." He sighed, feeling all sensation drain away faster and faster, until only a very dull ache remained. If he had one, he'd have said it was the heartache of failure.

Everything turned white. All orders had been followed to the letter. Zephyrus would never soldier again. He had no need to.

***

"You...stubborn bastard..." The Captain growled. He was lying on the ground, some distance from his lower torso, his remaining arm bearing an activated beam saber that had punched neatly through Hermes' chest, a charged buster waiting to be fired at point blank. Just inches from his head, burning into the ground, Hermes had driven his saber down, having hoped to end the battle in his favor, having aimed for the control chip, only missing due to a last second dodge. The Captain had been lucky, and both reploids knew it.

"Never could beat me without doing something like this. Take the shot, Erebus."

It would the final discharge of a buster in the battle for Fake Tombstone.

Missing an unhealthy chunk of his own body now, Hermes flew away a short distance, crashing in a tangled heap, 'sitting' up on what was left of his arms, facing his former comrade.

"Not my place to decide what to do about the GDC or whatever, Hermes." Erebus managed to drag himself towards something to prop himself up against, so he could face his friend. "I only care about this city, and what you've done, and what the GDC has done in response."

"I see...so your answer?"

"I'm going to live. I have no illusions that what I've done today will change anything, but I can't give up on what I do have left. Somehow, working within the system, I will find a way to change things for the better."

"Erebus, you will find the hostages, save the one in the saloon, in a civil defense shelter not far from here."

"Never meant to harm any of them, all of it was just one big act? You had us convinced."

"General Apollo was apprehensive enough about the plan as is. It wasn't like him to move forward so boldly. He mentioned you as an inspiration."

"Son of a bitch..." It was tentative at first, but The Captain started to laugh, until he was laughing hard enough that his damaged body was thrown off balance, and his one arm pinwheeled comically as he fell away from the fake rocks he was leaning against. Hermes joined in, barely able to stay sitting up. "So he finally acknowledged me. Always knew he wasn't as good as he said he was." For a moment, their battle had never occurred. They were still friends, still soldiers.

"You look terrible, Four. I haven't seen you this damaged in ages. Remember the training? 2123, before South Africa?"

"Of course I remember. What a shit storm that was. I do feel terrible, by the way. Autostasis is kicking in soon." The Captain managed to prop himself back up.

"Do me a favor and don't override it." Hermes looked serious then.

The moment had passed, only regret remained.

"I have one last thing I must do, Erebus. I wish you luck in this world you would die defending, but even now, I cannot abide the answer it has given me."

"Wait-"

"Snipers!" Bellowed Lieutenant Commander Hermes. "I have set my self destruct system to activate in ten seconds! I know you are there! Take the shot if you want your commander to live!"

Erebus reached out towards his friend, screaming for the snipers to hold their fire.

Johnny stood stark in the middle of the ruined saloon, seeing lights flashing all over the body of Hermes. His former captor turned back to face him with a crooked half grin.

"He's serious, Commander X!" Guernica said over the comm, his armor scored and warped all along the side where Zephyrus had scored a near miss with the magrifle, his trench coat shredded, standing like an avenging angel on a nearby retaining wall, already sighted on the Maverick.

"Do it!" X cried out.

"I'm going on ahead, Four. I'm glad I could see you alive one more-"

Erebus, Number Four, The Captain barely heard the cracks of the magrifles, his vision partially obscured by autostasis warnings that he couldn't even muster the strength to acknowledge. He'd seen and heard enough. An old friend dead, color gone from the world.

***

_Arcology Two South, 3:01PM_

General Apollo brooded in the makeshift command center near the top of the arcology. Scenarios swirled around in his electronic mind, analyzed, discarded, or moved up in probability and priority, facing the same gauntlet as time and casualties mounted. His eyes glowed with internal displays flashing across them, personnel files, old intelligence briefs, arcology schematics One particular file came up, blinking a red KIA mark over it's face. Next to it, another file, this one a face he hadn't seen in person for a long time.

Hermes was dead, at the hands of Four. Joining him in death were Zephyrus and Chronos. A quarter of his command staff, gone in a mere skirmish. He had seen all of it through the eyes of those directly involved, as he had seen the deaths of every single reploid that had died over the entirety of his life of service to the United States. He had been blessed and cursed with the ability to see what all in his command would see, and process it to be able to provide immediate changes at the tactical level with speed and accuracy.

He watched as his remaining men and women fought the tide of Hunters that had fallen upon the arcology, much greater than expected. He assumed Maverick Hunter HQ in New York and New Tokyo both recalled all reploids attached to the respective units on the offensive to take part. It was a bold, if not risky endeavor. Many hunters oftentimes traveled far from their home bases to work with smaller local units, as a way of spreading strength across the world. They'd deliberately weakened the defenses other places solely for this objective. The GDC had lost two carriers in exchange for seriously damaging the defenses around and on the arcology, not a fair trade in terms of economics though the GDC's reckless tactics had also cost him just over half of his own forces. Now Hunters were actively clearing the arcology of Mavericks, and while they had not begun the fight with a disparity in manpower, the enemy had one key component: Zero Omega.

He wasn't untouchable, or invincible. He was just that good. Under his direct protection, according to the visual feeds, were two squads of MSWAT, from the LA branch, and a squad from 0 Unit, who were faring far better than the rest of the hunter teams assembled here. Zero's own detachment was farthest ahead, most likely homing in on the roof based on whatever intel they were getting along the way. A pair of polycraft circled around the superstructure, manned with snipers, taking shots through the windows at Mavericks that were marked by Hunters. Covering the polycraft were members of the 21st Unit who were flight capable. The noose was slowly tightening.

Another data node lit up within his internal network visualization. It bore the seal of the White House.

"You answered. Consider my cabinet and myself surprised, General Apollo." President Souther looked calmer than Apollo had expected.

"Mister President."

"I've been fighting to achieve some modicum of improvement for reploids of US origin my entire term. You understand that this makes things difficult."

"It was never our intention to merely forward the cause of reploid rights. We specifically addressed the GDC."

"And it has opened a grand opportunity for us." Souther continued. "Tell me, General. Your targets were specifically facilities that would prevent local law enforcement and military units from coordinating an immediate response? How many casualties do you think your men and women caused directly within the city of Los Angeles?"

"Seven hundred and three human deaths are confirmed. Four hundred thirty of those are law enforcement personnel."

"The GDC sortie on your stolen polycraft killed over twice that in civilians alone. Missiles gone awry, that sort of thing. There's a school that got hit by three missiles, collapsing in on itself. It's on the news."

"I had noticed."

"General Apollo. The GDC violated the United States Military Rules of Engagement, and superseded my authority in authorizing the attack. The Security Council is in an uproar. I've currently, against their orders, requested that the Fifth MEU be deployed from the shores to commit counter insurgency ops from the coast on in, to flush out your people if they go into hiding within the city. Was that your intention, to cause such a split in the command?"

"A small part, yes." _What is he driving at?_

"General, you may go down in history as a Maverick, but you do understand that you've directly challenged an authority that has lasted over four decades? Over this 'Ice Beacon'?"

"Would you believe it was found on the net?"

"We've had people going over our satellite imaging maps from the last ten years, trying to find a physical location, and there's nothing on our databases that refer to it."

"If it were possible to accept your word..."

"You are running out of time, Apollo. If you want to bring down the authority of the GDC, your commander in chief is still able to provide some offensive options, if you will."

"Your search should involve Antarctica. Two years ago, there was an explosion. It went fairly underreported. There was no way we could miss that."

"There was fairly heavy electromagnetic interference that day. The satellites that did catch it could not gain clear images." That was General Culverson, wearing a scowl that Apollo assumed never left his face.

"There were figures that fought there. Indistinct, but there was a battle. I concluded this two years ago, and I believe it has everything to do with the detonation in England. The warp outs that nobody could trace accurately. The reports of reploids pursued by unaffiliated individuals, some of these reploids being Maverick Hunters. The Reploid Murders of 2131. All of it. I took the liberty of sending people to the crater in the Antarctica to investigate last year, and in the days after the detonation in England, I recall the US sent over an investigation team to help the GDC determine the cause."

"What did you find after going through the data?" Souther demanded.

"Nothing of immediate value. It was if nothing of importance ever existed at those sites."

"A purposeful salvage operation, designed to hide something?"

"I could find no evidence of US military involvement in the England explosion or the Antarctic. You made my people and myself to be the masters of hiding our presence if we ever set up shop somewhere. It was too clean, but certain things still remained in the snow and ice. Blood, reploid and human, frozen, but still remaining behind, buried under snow and ice. One of my reploids, Chronos, also claims she could detect missile propellant from several sites in and around the crater."

"A facility?"

"Indeed. From what little that I know, based on my gut, and based on the terrible quality of satellite surveillance from the dates surrounding that explosion, it was some form of transmission facility."

"You imply the GDC was involved?" Secretary of Defense Robert Bachmann raised an eyebrow.

"Partly, if not wholly complicit. It is all circumstantial evidence, but someone wanted to hide something. The GDC has the largest overall intelligence and military infrastructure in the world, not counting the contributions laid down by the AmeriCanadian Alliance, it is eminently capable of such deception. The GDC is also responsible for 2124. It seems rather odd that so soon after that ended as a sham that such a facility would begin accelerated construction, in secret."

"That's conspiracy theory, General. We've gone over your specifications a dozen times since you made your statement worldwide. This is not at all like you." Souther interjected.

"An old friend once asked me to trust my gut. I have not forgotten my duty to my country, Mister President. But I firmly believe the world is in grave danger, as are my people. There are too many fractured puzzle pieces that can be fit together with too much ease."

"General Apollo, until you provide more substantial proof, this is nothing I can bring to bear against the Security Council." The President concluded. "However, you have raised a legitimate concern. If your intention was to show the ineffectiveness of GDC military doctrine at handling a large scale Maverick Uprising, you've gone above and beyond the call of duty. If they were allowed to continue their unrestricted warfare upon Mavericks in Los Angeles, things could have been far worse."

"Indeed."

"General Apollo. Your final order is to see to the end of this Maverick Uprising. Arcology Two South must remain standing, in order to use the damage caused to it by GDC orders against them. I cannot guarantee that the matter on Ice Beacon will be brought up. However, you've more than proven that something is amiss, at the very least we can begin scaling back our commitments to the GDC. We have no need to support an international organization that is willing to sacrifice American citizens to cover something up."

The reploid General did not hesitate.

"Order from Commander In Chief accepted. Arcology Two South is to remain standing. We will release the hostages immediately, and continue to fight OpFor units via conventional means. I have one request."

"Name it." The President's face betrayed nothing, even in the end.

"I only ask that you continue my line of inquiry, through any means necessary. Any and all analysis I have done in regards to this matter will be made available via delayed download through a series of satellites I have prepared for this purpose. The decryption key will be familiar to the NSA. I also do not wish to be repurposed, should my body be captured. Goodbye gentlemen."

Apollo didn't want to believe he saw it, but the President saluted him before ending the communication. It somehow made the order to die hurt that much less.

***

"General Apollo, we're waiting for your orders." One of the remaining Twelve reminded Apollo, shaking him free of his inner thoughts. Lieutenant Tartarus was one of the remaining sub commander class reploids of the 2nd RSF. Alongside of him were Aether, Apollo's new direct second in command after Hermes died, and Brontes, essentially a twin brother to Chronos. He was their electronic warfare hub for the entire structure.

"As the Hunters have yet to locate the facilities we have held the hostages in, inform Athena and Nike to release them through the underground monorail, as planned."

"Sir, are we preparing to bring down A2South?"

"No Tartarus, we are not." Apollo sighed. "It seems that despite the immediate heavy handedness of the GDC, we've not instilled the sort of apprehension in the enemy as I had anticipated. We've lost."

"We have nothing left to lose. If we destroy the arcology, as you originally intended, we can at least strike a severe blow on the Hunters, escape, and regroup." Tartarus insisted.

"There will be no destruction of this Arcology!" Apollo thundered. "What purpose would it serve? The deaths of more civilians as pieces of this rained upon Los Angeles? We are Mavericks in name, but certainly not through our convictions, nor a cavalier disrespect of life."

"You expect us to die here?" Brontes asked.

"I expect all of you to maintain your honor."

***

Hilde was stunned she, much less everyone else from MSWAT, could keep up with Zero or anyone else from his personal detachment from 0 Unit. He was every bit the demon he was rumored to be, which somehow seemed like a completely different person who had briefed the combined force of North American and Japanese based Hunters that had gathered well outside of the perimeter of A2South. He'd been all smiles, most of the hunters had been. People laughed at stupid jokes over the superiority of New York HQ and vice versa.

When the actual combat started, she'd been first hand to witness the change. He'd become a beast, a Demon. He'd completely forgone the use of his buster at this point, relying exclusively on his beam saber. He was drenched from head to toe with the blood of the fallen, ripping through the scattered security squads they came across with terrifying ease.

She thought about Ricardo. He had tried to insist on being here right now with her, and only after Zero had pulled him aside and explained what they were about to go through had he acquiesced to her requests. They had shared another hug, and she had promised him she would be safe. He was currently outside in one of their polycraft, providing sniper support with the other members of MSWAT who were not inside the building with her two squads. He was safe, and that made it much easier to concentrate on staying alive. It wouldn't do to have him try to keep up with this pace, and it would have hurt her to tell him that a human like him would have slowed them down.

Hilde also wondered about The Captain and the whole park situation. They'd been cut off from contact for the last half hour, the interference only getting stronger as they got deeper into the building.

"Goddamnit, this place is startin' to PISS ME OFF!" Zero howled as the mixed team arrived at yet another set of elevator shafts. "Is this ALL this building is made out of?"

"Wouldn't surprise me." Hilde remarked, her and the rest of her SWAT compatriots turning their attention to the way they'd just come. It was littered with smoking, sparking, twitching Maverick corpses, the most in one place she had ever seen. Most of it had been Zero's work. Part of her wanted to shut the stink of it away, it made her feel sick, but she stubbornly refused to let it get to her entirely. Somehow, it felt important to have the whole experience. Hilde had never killed so many Mavericks in such a short period, and likely never would again.

MSWAT was all about quick, precisely timed raids. The enemy was usually small in number, likely poorly trained or simply insane Mavericks. This was closer to house-to-house warfare she read about in e-novels or watched on history documentaries. The screams if the fallen and the shouts of the victors echoed throughout the whole building. Her group hadn't stopped moving for more than a couple minutes at a time, Zero and his men were seeing to that. It was all the MSWAT people could do just to provide proper cover fire for his wild charges, but the enemy was as tenacious as they were.

She wondered what Ricardo would say about her now, as disheveled and bloodstained she and the others were. Everything had changed the moment they stepped into this place. She couldn't get the first and only kill she had made with her beam saber out of her mind, and wondered if it had changed her in some way, twisted her.

"How close are we?" Zero asked, taking a deep breath, as though to slow himself down, to bring back the cool, collected Zero.

"Twenty floors, Commander." One of his people answered. "We're awful far ahead of the other teams. Resistance is waning. Should we wait for the reinforcements?"

"No time." He kicked down the door to the elevator shaft, peeking inside. "Mavericks confirmed they'd blow this whole building. They might have even started the process." He looked at the MSWAT members, specifically at Hilde, his face softening somewhat. "You people holding up?" There were scattered nods and 'yeahs'. "I doubt anyone of you has had to see sustained combat like this. Yer doin' fine, if it helps."

"So, up the shaft then?" Hilde asked, stepping past the Crimson Hunter to the precipice. "I'll take point."

"Lookin' a little green in the face. You sure?"

"Just watch me, asshole!" She jumped at the far wall, then was out of sight and a floor up moments later.

"One of those independent 'don't-protect-me' types. There's one everywhere." He muttered to no one in particular.

***

"Maintain our honor? That's what this is about now? Throwing us to the wolves?" Tartarus accused. His hands had already come up, forming twin busters. Reflexively, Apollo did the same.

"You know nothing about what you are suggesting, Tartarus. Stand down, Lieutenant."

"Sir, it's my responsibility to recognize that you are no longer fit for command. Hermes, Chronos, and Zephyrus are dead in an _amusement park_ and you can't even tell us how they died or if they died for the right reasons!"

"There is no reason to continue the fighting." Apollo said evenly. "Fighting and dying to the man is not an acceptable outcome."

"So what is?" Brontes raised a buster at his General. "We're Mavericks now! Honor doesn't apply to us anymore, the enemy will never treat us like real soldiers! They've sent Zero for us personally! I am tracking him right now, we have minutes at best! General, please order the destruction of A2South! There is no reason for us to simply give in, what will that say about the sacrifices we've made?!"

"They have not been made in vain." Apollo said over the whine of charging busters. A part of him was relieved to see that Aether had drawn his busters and pointed them both at the mutineers, eyes filled with fear. "The GDC is in an uproar. The reliance it has shown on AmeriCanadian forces outside of our nation, and the brutality they put on display by sending in that airstrike and the carriers have done far worse damage than we have to the entire city. All tasks at hand have been accomplished."

"That's not good enough, General." Tartarus warned.

***

_MSWAT Polycraft Three, __Super Three Three__, 3:11PM_

Ricardo felt the pain in his ribs once again, despite being on the medicines Hypatia had given him. He couldn't afford to take a full dose, or his aim would be off. The MSWAT polycraft had three other shooters like himself on board, hanging from stabilized pods underneath the craft. He was protected by a metallic bubble, the only part of him protruding from the pod was his rifle and scope. One hand was on the trigger grip to the weapon, the other on a trackball that could make the necessary adjustments to his aim. He'd done this many times in simulations, but there had never been any reason to use this capability for any of the typical incidents they dealt with.

He wondered how she was doing inside. They hadn't spoken since she waved at him as he climbed aboard the polycraft and walked with the same grace she always possessed to meet with Zero, who had been preparing to brief the combined Hunter forces from New York and New Tokyo. Rolling his pod down a few degrees, he caught sight of the friendly markers that showed Zero, and more importantly to him, Hilde and the two MSWAT squads she was leading behind the Crimson Hunter, still in one piece. It was something to smile about.

With that out of the way, he went back to scanning for targets. It hadn't surprised him very much that when the battle started, not very long after he and the other seven snipers on board the two polycraft had opened up on Mavericks that had tried to take down their craft, guarded by members of the 21st, that he hadn't had very many targets to shoot. Now they were trying to locate where on the top floors the Maverick leader had holed up in. There was enough EM interference that it made communications difficult, and the image curtains had now fallen over all of the windows he could have shot through, not only masking physical viewing of the interior, but masking IR scans. They effectively could not see inside the building.

"Whoa, you seeing this?" a sniper gasped. Looking again through his scope, wincing as his sudden weight shift placed more pressure on his ribs, Ricardo confirmed the strange sight.

The image curtains were vanishing, from the ground floor up. He tracked them until they got to just above where Zero's team was headed. It was a large conference style room, and he could now make out details of it.

"Zero Team, possible ambush, one floor over your position!" another sniper called out. The polycraft started to move in closer to the arcology, giving Ricardo and the others better views. Opposite to them Super Three Four was orbiting as well, also closing in to give its' compliment of snipers a better shot. Ricardo found the room in question a moment later, and scanned across the silhouettes, looking for a clean shot.

"Hold fire, hold fire! Confirmed General Apollo is in there!" A hunter from the 21st said over the comm. "We have orders to take him alive if possible."

Ricardo and the others already knew that, the Hunter was just being cautious. He kept watching the silhouettes, noting curiously that each one had blue glows emanating from their hands, all pointed at one another. _Weird._ He selected the next magnification on his scope, not taking eyes off of it. _That can't be right._ He blinked.

"We might have a situation here, anyone else confirm for me that we've got Mavericks pointing busters at each other in there?"

***

"Turning off the image curtains? You really want us to die, General?" Tartarus sounded sad, somewhat unfitting for a traitor.

"Only if you intend to destroy this place. It will no longer serve any purpose to do so." Just then, Athena, one of the few full flight capable reploids in the 2nd RSF arrived with Nike, her own twin, coming from the central shaft and through one of the windows. Apollo had been hiding this unfolding disaster the entire time, so she had no knowledge of what she and her second were walking into.

"Sir, hostages have been-" she started, and was cut off by a bolt of plasma to the face, taking her head off. Nike blinked in shock at her corpse, then glared at Tartarus, who had been the killer.

"Nike, our General was just moments away from ordering us to die fighting, after all we've been through. Are you with him or me? Three seconds! Make your choice!"

"I choose the General, you murderer." Nike lifted her own pair of busters, and they growled with the gathering of energy.

Things happened very fast.

***

"Shots fired, shots fired in the enemy CP!" was the word over the main comm, coming in scratchy and distorted, but it was clear enough something was definitely amiss.

Hilde arrived at the floor that had been marked as the enemy command post, closely followed by Zero. He was already dashing ahead of her, while she waited for the thruster attachments to her boots to recharge. Seconds later the whole team had gotten to the same floor, one of the Hunters grabbing Hilde by the waist to help bring her along with his own dash thrusters. They arrived at a double layered steel door, hearing nothing on the other side.

"I'll let you handle this part, Miss SWAT." Zero said, leaning against the wall next to the door, sliding his helmet up to brush some hair that had come loose back underneath it before re-securing it.

Hilde motioned with her hands for a set of shaped directional charges to be placed on the corners of the door, while she prepared a cord of thermite, affixing it across the top of the door. It felt comforting to be doing what she was used to, despite the craziness earlier, the familiarity stopped the trembling that had followed her throughout the entire battle. Within seconds, she and her other demolitions experts finished their preparations.

"Two stacks, left and right. Zero, you go straight through the center."

"You got it." He answered easily, looking even more relaxed, if that were possible. Hilde didn't understand how he could do it.

"Super Three Three? Ricky?" her voice started to waver again. "What can you see?" Her hands went down to the row of flashbangs she had on her tactical webbing.

"Smoke and shattered glass. How you holding up?"

"Good. Nothing else?"

"Thermal is all screwed up. I think I can make out the General, I can confirm one dead female humanoid flight type, she died before the real firefight, there's another heat sig near the General, another by the rear of the room. Possible fifth, no idea where she went. I'm fine, by the way." Ricardo's voice sounded strained from the effort.

"Time for the big show. See you soon, okay?"

"Of course-"

Her mouth dropped open, but nothing came out immediately. Static played in the place of his channel.

"Breach, Flash, and Clear!" Hilde, her face betraying everything she felt in that moment, turned to face the door. Her voice was as impassive as she could manage. Even before the door charges went off, the dull sound of explosions through the noise-proofed walls registered in all of their ears. She was the first in the room. She had brought her beam saber out instead of her buster, and in that moment, she thought, in the deepest recesses of her mind, that she understood the Crimson Hunter a little bit more.

***

Apollo could recall an old movie like this from something he decided to watch along with his men and women years ago.

Brontes was dead, killed by Nike before one of her wings had been shorn clean off by his own super shot, falling back into the central shaft, presumably to her own death, though now Apollo could not see the individual feeds each soldier was transmitting. It did not stop him from calculating and analyzing everything around him. Tartarus was nowhere to be found in front of him, though he thought there had been a chance that his own blast had taken a piece of him before he lost track of him. It didn't matter now.

_To any and all surviving members of the 2nd RSF. If you can hear me, you are to disengage and escape by any means you are able to. If escape is not an option, stand down. We are lost._

He managed to smile. A warning appeared in his vision, indicating that he was losing the use of his audio sensors, which made the destruction of the dual layer protective door across the room from him seem almost comical as it split in half and folded inward, reploids rushing in with incredible speed. He assumed they were hunters, and his eyes started scanning across them, names from his database appearing next to their figures, class designations, threat capacity, everything. One of them, a female, looked distraught, and next to her, the Crimson Demon himself rested a hand on her shoulder briefly, as if to comfort her.

He marched up to the fallen and dying General, saying something that he could only read his lips to understand now.

_What happened here?_

"Not your concern...Tartarus, my second in command has taken the command key necessary to detonate the demolitions charges within the structure." It was strange to feel his voice, but not hear it, Apollo thought.

_Where is he?_ the female shouted at him, restraining herself from shaking him. She then looked very distracted, her mouth moving faster than he could read, her body trembling, eyes blinking rapidly as though to stop the shakes. The woman did not look as though she belonged here, quite suddenly, and that thought made the General full of regret, for some reason.

"He cannot be within two thousand meters of the building, otherwise the system will not activate, I have made it so. The warp bubble will prevent him escaping immediately."

**Program loss imminent, thirty seconds!**

The room shook, suddenly, and to his left, the General watched as one of the two circling polycraft fell from the sky, awash in flames. The woman screamed something unintelligible, running for the window, Zero rushing after her, trying to restrain her. It didn't matter to him though. He had one last thing to accomplish.

Inside his mind, he gathered everything he ever knew, all of the data that was him, and his knowledge of the things that led him to start the short lived rebellion. With Brontes dead, the facility that had been emitting the EM field under his control shut down. He had complete access to the global network. Two specific destinations for this data came to mind; one out of obligation, and one out of respect.

_Number Four._ With that last thought, General Apollo's eyes lost the glow they once held. His head lolled forward, and the world turned black.

***

Ricardo had pulled himself out of the pod just as the fireworks on the inside started. The pilots of both transports decided it was not safe to maintain overwatch with plasma being flung all over the place, and the snipers didn't want to be stuck in the pod that protruded out from the craft.

That was when Super Three Four's pilot cried out in alarm. It was impossible to miss, a reploid in black armor, standing on the roof of the building, rushing at the polycraft, dash thrusters alit. Ricardo and the other snipers on Super Three Three braced themselves as best they could in the crew compartment, throwing open the side door facing the arcology, sighting in at the Maverick, though they had practically no time to fire. The reploid had already managed to rush off the side and leap aboard the craft. A thunderous explosion followed, debris spewing in every direction.

"Hilde! Talk to me!"

"Ricky you're still-"

"Yeah, what the hell is going on?"

"You were cut off- Listen! We can't confirm one of the Mavericks! General Apollo is already dead, the remaining leadership is either dead or captured!"

"Well, we just saw him take out Super Three Four!" The pilot of Ricardo's ship said. "We're clearing the hell out!"

"You have to anyway! If he gets anywhere outside of two thousand meters from the arcology, he can activate the self destruct system!"

_Oh, you are KIDDING ME. _Ricardo scanned the building, looking for that reploid. _Shit shit shit!_

"Got 'im!" The pilot shouted. "There he is, sliding down the side of the building, moving to give you folks a shot!"

The polycraft shook suddenly, and Ricardo lost grip of the harness that he was using to stay inside, feeling himself be thrown towards the exit, but he managed to grab onto a strut, just before falling out completely. A quick glance confirmed that the tail section of the polycraft was a mass of molten metal and flame, and the world spun wildly around him. One of the other snipers lost grip of his rifle, and it flew directly into Ricardo's face, a shock of pain accompanied by a bright flash as it connected, then clattered past him and out into the air. His grip loosened.

Appearing right atop the cockpit bubble, having cancelled his warp at just the right moment, a fully charged buster aimed at the pilot, the Maverick grinned. The pilot lifted a magpistol from a chest holster, aiming back at the Maverick and firing as the Maverick did.

Ricardo lost his grip entirely, and it was what spared him the plasma, for what it was worth.

_***_

She nearly fell to her knees, watching as the polycraft detonated, almost missing a step as she continued to run forward, screaming with impotent fury and sorrow, seeing him fall away from the wreckage, towards the ground far below. The makeshift thrusters burned through the soft carpet of the room as she sped towards the windows.

"Don't watch!" Zero shouted, rushing after her. "Don't look, damn you!"

Zero was close behind her, reaching for her neck. He fired up his own thrusters, speeding ahead of Hilde, spinning fluidly and back handing her across the face, sending her sprawling into the floor and into the wall. Without missing a beat, the Crimson Hunter leaped out of the window, and down the side of the building. But she didn't see that.

Hilde tried to stand, but her body refused to listen. Overwhelmed at everything that had happened, with her electronic brain warning that her internal temperatures were exceeding safe levels, her body went slack. Feeling and perhaps looking like a hapless china doll, the reploid wept until finally, her systems shut down, and she went completely silent.

***

_I'm falling,_ Ricardo thought.

Above him, a fiery flower bloomed in the air. He was the only survivor of his ship, for the moment.

_Hilde._

Funny, he'd kept hold of his rifle. Even now, it was still his weapon, essentially his life. He didn't want to let it go, no matter what happened. It would have felt like he had given up.

"HUUUUUUUMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!"

The shriek of rage came from an unmistakable source. The ebony reploid snarled at him from above, missing a leg from the magpistol shots that had ripped it off, buster aimed at Ricardo.

They would both die. Ricardo Sato could not understand what drove this Maverick onward, even now, to fight, to kill. Shouldering the magrifle as best he could, Ricardo took aim.

The wind grew to almost deafening levels. He did not chance a look below himself. He didn't have the time. Finger on the trigger. Inhale. Pull. Exhale.

Miss. The Maverick adjusted his own course with a burst from his dash thruster, spinning wildly now, with only one leg to help control himself, his own spate of buster fire hopeless off, not that it didn't matter.

"I DIDN'T WANT TO DIE A MERE SACRIFICE TO PEOPLE LIKE YOU!" The Maverick shouted, barely heard over the rushing air. Finger on the trigger. Inhale. Pull. Exhale.

Miss. Three rounds left in the magazine. It was getting hard just to hold onto the weapon with how much he was shaking as he cut through the air.

The Maverick returned fire, a green bolt of charged plasma shrieking past Ricardo by a meter, close enough. His left leg and arm felt as though they had been lit aflame. Finger on the trigger. Inhale. Pull. Exhale.

Hit, dead center of the waist as the Maverick tried to slow himself down and move to the right. _Woulda got your head too, you bastard._ Everything below the Mavericks waist under the point the round passed through tore away messily, reploid blood and components flinging free every which way. Two rounds left. The Maverick wailed, a terrible, sad sound, one arm nursing his stomach, obviously in great pain, blood vomiting free from his mouth, splashing all over his face. He looked almost demonic, yet filled with incredible sorrow.

Finger on the trigger. Inhale. Pull. Exhale.

Miss. One round left. The Maverick was saying something now, but Ricardo could not understand him over the din, his mouth moving slowly. His helmet slipped free, revealing hair, white as snow. On his forehead, a red jewel blinking rapidly. He pointed at it, face twisted in agony.

Finger on the trigger. Inhale. Pull. Exhale.

Miss.

_Sorry pal,_ Ricardo thought numbly, giving the trigger grip one last squeeze before releasing the rifle to its fate. Rolling over to face downward, he reached for the zip cord to his parachute with his left arm, yanking on it helplessly, as it refused to deploy. The cord had been melted to his gear by the passing charged plasma. He faced the Maverick again. His expression was relaxed now, as though he'd resigned himself to the same fate as the human. The crystal on his head stopped flashing. It was over. _Lucky you._

A white-gloved hand came into his vision. Following the arm it was attached to, he found himself staring at the incredulous face of Zero Omega.

"HOLD ON AS TIGHT AS YOU CAN, RICARDO! THIS IS GONNA SUCK!"

"OH, IT'S GOING TO START NOW? COLOR ME SURPRISED!"

Zero steered them away from the building, using his foot thrusters to slow them down as best they could, guiding them towards something only he could see.

"YOU GOT A GOOD GRIP ON ME? I'M GONNA TRY TO FORCE YOUR CHUTE OPEN!"

"YES PLEASE, I WOULD VERY MUCH NOT LIKE TO DIE, THANKS IN ADVANCEOWWWWWWWW-" The shock of the chute opening felt as though someone was trying to break his back, while his arms and legs felt as though they were going to be pulled from their sockets, despite the mutual support Zero was trying to provide, he was significantly heavier than the human. They didn't seem to be slowing down much.

"UH, IT'S NOT FULLY DEPLOYING!" Zero added a moment later.

"...WHAT?"

"YEAH! UM, SORRY ABOUT THIS?"

"THAT'S REALLY NOT GONNA CUT IT, I'M CALLING BULLSHIT!" Ricardo Sato started to laugh. What else could they do? Something hard and fast suddenly ran into the two of them, and he knew nothing more.

***

_MSWAT Infirmary, Los Angeles_

_September 13th, 2133_

_I am...Hilde. Model Number Four of Seven, Initial Activation Date October 3rd, 2123._

_I am..._

Her eyes snapped open. Even with her optics still blurry from being unused for some time, she knew that she'd been in this place many times before.

Her armor was gone, but she felt warm, and secure. She lifted the blankets and inspected her form; A black bodysuit over synthflesh, all to the specifications of an artist over a decade ago. She'd never been designed for MSWAT work, not that she'd ever admit it. She had been designed to look beautiful, by the standards of some eccentric. She'd not told Hypatia this, but perhaps she picked up on it. The medical specialist was familiar with the bodies of every reploid in the unit. She most definitely knew that they were almost alike in that regard.

A check of her internal clock revealed that three days had passed since the incident. Memories flooded back through her mind, and she fell back against her maintenance bed pillows, sighing shakily.

She could erase the event from her mind, but it wouldn't change anything. Much like with a human being, she could recall it again, somehow. And he would still be gone.

Zero had stopped her throwing her life away in some vain attempt to save him.

"Oh God." She choked out. "Oh God..." She sucked in more breaths of air, her mind spinning from the sudden rush of emotions. After a few moments, she managed to calm herself down.

"You did pretty well, kid. All of you did." Zero Omega stood off to the side, leaning against the monitoring machines that kept an eye on Hilde's vitals.

"Zero..." she tried to sound menacing, but her heart was just not into it. "Wh-when did you slip in?"

"We've been here a while." Hypatia remarked, seeming to materialize next to Hilde, holding up a scanner. "Are you alright?"

"I guess so..."

"As compensation, MHHQ New Tokyo shipped to us a new set of parts to fix up everyone who was left after everything was said and done. Your legs are practically brand new, able to work the interface with your new acceleration systems with even greater efficiency. I also-" Hypatia stopped when she noticed Hilde's expression, frowning as she dropped the technobabble. "I'll...I'll be outside, if you need me to kick these people out. I'm sorry." She blinked rapidly, quickly walking out without another word.

_So it wasn't just a bad dream..._

"It was the least we could do, to get you and all of your comrades fixed up to Hunter standards. With the LA branch of Hunters essentially wiped out, we ended up taking you on as our local reinforcements." The Blue Bomber of 21XX said from a seat several maintenance beds away. "I suppose in the end, we may not have needed you. Unnecessary sacrifices."

"Yeah..." Hilde managed. "The park raid, The Captain, how did it turn out?"

"The raid on the park went well enough." X nodded. "Your Captain is still alive, but he's going to be out of action for a little bit longer than you. He lost over half of his body. He has a terrible habit of playing old movie quotes. Is that normal or...?"

"It's normal. It's definitely normal." Hilde smiled at the thought. "Zero...thank you for saving me...even if-"

"Aw, keep the waterworks tied up just a bit longer, at least until we leave, yeah?" The Crimson Hunter tried to look completely ambivalent, and failed. "It would have been a waste. You'd make a good Hunter in New Tokyo, replacements for my unit and for the 17th, especially. We could use a girl with her head on her shoulders. So could New York. The 99th got chewed up pretty good too. These Mavericks...fought really hard."

"General Apollo died, along with most of his command staff." X took over. "According to information released by your government, he was one of twelve command class humanoid reploids that led the 2nd RSF. We confirmed the deaths of ten, three of which were at the park. One went missing during the fighting before we even arrived at A2South. We think the other was a flight type, according to records of the fight that occured in the command center before your team broke in. We can't find her either. Moments after you arrived at the General's side, the Mavericks all surrendered, disarming on the spot, except for a few dozen, who warped out, though with the warp bubble up..." X shrugged. "I guess they didn't want to be re-purposed. Your government has become much more lenient than I expected. Most of the Mavericks will simply be re-purposed, if they choose to be."

"The GDC is having a serious fit right now. Your President is putting on a hell of a show on international TV, but in a way, he's in the right. Ultimately, more civilians died due to GDC intervention than they did to the Maverick uprising. The footage of one of the carriers steering at the Arcology, at the time still full of hostages, before detonating, as the Mavericks destroyed it before harm could further befall the facility, most likely at the cost of their own lives is pretty haunting stuff. If they were Mavericks caused by the virus, it'd be pretty surprising, but not a single Maverick had a trace of the thing in them. They treated it like a military operation, with tactical, strategic, and military objectives, and if I read it right, they succeeded at all three. Ultimately, the GDC military leadership has offered a public apology, but the AmeriCanadian alliance now wants complete control of all military installations without any GDC oversight throughout North America. They probably will not get everything they ask for, but they'll definitely get a compromise in their favor."

"So it was a political operation, you think?" Hilde asked.

"Well, they did state their goal was to make the GDC lose its current power over the world as a whole." Zero walked over to the windows, staring through the blinds at the setting sun. "They've definitely done that. I'm pretty sure there aren't too many reploids who have love for the GDC, especially after 2124. Nothing's come up about this whole Ice Beacon business. Everyone is treating it like it was never mentioned. With the AmeriCanadian alliance starting almost immediate withdrawals of human and reploid military units across the globe, the GDC is going to be harder pressed to maintain order in zones that haven't seen the same recovery that other parts of the world have had since The Wars. The downside to this whole mess is that recently, every major MH Branch got a significant man power increase due to the events of 2131, but after this, we'll probably be the first thing that gets a funding cut. So much for those huge teams, I guess." He laughed. "Well, I suppose it won't be anything we haven't dealt with before. We were spread thin before, so if anything, it'll just be business as usual."

For a while, they all remained silent, the only thing they could hear was the sounds of reploids and humans shuffling past the door in the hall. Business as usual indeed.

"You know...how is the pay...as a Hunter?" Hilde asked, after a moment. "If you need replacements in New Tokyo..."

"What, ya interested?" Zero got a big grin on his face. X whapped him upside the back of his head. "Hey!"

"There's really nothing for me here now. I don't think I could keep doing what I did before September 10th if I stayed here." She wiped at her eyes angrily with one hand. "It's just not fair, you know? I can be rebuilt. I can be replaced. Why couldn't have it been me? What did I do so different that let me survive with barely a scratch?"

"Sometimes, it's just not your time." X said, pulling on Zero's arm insistently. "We should get moving. Lots of paperwork, lots of helping rebuild, for a few days at least. We'll be heading up overseeing the new MH units that are going to take over for the old LA Branch, so we'll be around to hear your final answer, for a few days at least. You're always welcome in New Tokyo."

"You already know my answer." Hilde said quietly.

X frowned, shaking his head sadly, before equipping his helmet once more.

"Be seein' you around then, Miss SWAT." Zero waved as he walked out. X took one last look at the girl, and bowed politely before excusing himself from the room. The door slid open and shut with a cold finality.

She was alone.

After listening to the occasional beeps of her monitoring equipment, she reached for a button, turning on a flat screen located just above her bed, and tuned into the news. Every channel that had news was talking about the big uprising that had lasted for less than a whole day. Questions of the reliability of reploids were bought up, once again, though most American networks, as Zero and X had implied to her, were looking at the whole mess with a different slant, with the GDC's nearly disastrous response at the forefront.

How typical. Everywhere you went, the news was different. She wondered if anyone really knew what had happened here, and if anyone truly understood the cost of what happened, and why it did.

She'd killed many Mavericks, but they hadn't been raving psychopaths. Like her, they simply wanted to live according to some personal desire, or need.

And like many victims of that day, she'd lost something completely irreplaceable.

"I miss you!" she whispered, hands balling into fists. "It's so damn funny. Reploids and humans aren't physically compatible at all, but none of it mattered to me. You treated me like a person. More than just property, we were co-workers, we were friends...and now we're nothing...you're just gone!"

"So uh, when Zero jumped out of the building for me, my parachute didn't exactly deploy properly." Ricardo Sato's voice emanated from the doorway.

She was up and on her feet in moments.

He sat in a wheelchair, grinning his stupid grin.

"Wha..."

"I got badly burned by a Maverick, melted my ripcord to my gear. He managed to open it enough to slow us down, but we were gonna go splat."

"But-"

"So there we are, falling, right?" He wheeled into the room, making the sound of a diving World War Two era aircraft. "Turns out, X makes a hell of a landing cushion. Well, X plus one Landchaser. Former Landchaser. When we crashed into the building through one of the windows, it was pretty much totaled."

"You're-"

"Alive is one word, but I had pretty severe burns. Hypatia-"

"He's such an asshole, he put me up to this!" she said from outside in the hall.

"-doesn't want me walking, for a few more days at least, until my treatment is finished. You wouldn't believe the nerve of that woman, she friggin' slapped me! I'm convalescing here!"

"I warned you if you made her cry what I would do!"

"R-Ricardo..."

"Hey, you gonna just stand there?"

She cleared the distance in a single blink of an eye, arms around him, crying openly now.

"Sorry I worried you."

"You can't ever do that shit again!" She snapped.

Any further explanation would have to wait, as she refused to take her lips off of his.

He didn't exactly mind.

***

_Afterword: Well, shoot. This is the first fic I have finished. Special thanks to Erico, for giving me the spark and the challenge I might have sought all this time by making __From The Sidelines__,__ and all other MMX fan fic writers, for being the inspiration of so many things surrounding such a beloved series. I am nothing without my betters who have preceded me, and taught me what I lack, and have inspired me to read and (hopefully) write more._

_I don't know what I will do from here. I really enjoyed writing this. I might revisit my own characters, should enough people prod me to get off my ass. I am a dreadfully slow writer, sadly, but I guess I can get better._

_Thanks for reading, I hope it has proven an interesting read._

_-Alex Musa  
_


	8. Where the Grass is Greener

_**MEGA MAN X: FROM THE SIDELINES**_

A Collaborative Collection

**WHERE THE GRASS IS GREENER**

By Patrick "Magus523" Frazier

* * *

_New Tokyo, Japan_

_May 23rd, 2135 C.E._

_2:48 P.M.  
_

"Looks like just another day in the Maverick Hunter business." Lee whistled under his breath as he read the newspaper, leaning against the side of a nearby building. "Yep."

"_Give_ me that!" His commander, Sirius, angrily tore the paper from his hands. A short, squat canid, Siris had the face and features of a beagle, which always made him look slightly silly when he was pissed off. Which happened more often than not, and usually in the direction of his most experienced Hunter. "Will you _focus_ already, goddammit? A hostage situation in a convenience store, and you stand around reading the goddamn _news?_"

"Just trying to stay calm about it," Lee protested mildly, raising his hands. "No sense in getting all worked up, boss. The trick's keeping cool, and waiting for the right idea to present itself. Just let me do that, okay?"

"Idiot," Sirius snarled, shaking his head and stomping off to go see what some of the other three Hunters assigned to the situation were doing.

"Man oh man, it's a good thing he's a reploid," Lee sighed, glancing over at the aforementioned convenience store. "Probably be running a pool on how long before his blood pressure killed him if he was human." Lee was a reploid himself, a lanky coyote model with sleepy eyes and beige armor. Everything about him was unassuming, which was the way he liked it. Walking back over to the newspaper dispenser, he bought another and returned to his reading, only looking up when his fellow Hunters walked around the corner to join him.

"Okay, the chief is calling back to base to report." The youngest, a rodentoid with the unfortunate name of Rip, told him. "He'll be out of the way. About time, too."

"Now, don't go talking about the boss that way," Lee said casually, ditching the paper. "He's a good Hunter. He's just not cut out for fieldwork, is all. Better at the office side of things. Not his fault Signas makes him come out to lead by example every few months. Now that he won't go getting himself hurt, though, let's wrap this up before any of the hostages do, huh?"

"You got it, Lee." The largest of the three, a bull-type named Arthur, grinned. "So what's the plan this time, huh?"

"I'll walk on in through the front door," Lee told them calmly. After a moment of stunned silence, he continued. "They don't know we're here yet, I reckon, or they'd have made some threats. They'll just figure I'm another hostage and put me back with the rest. Soon as I give the signal, Arthur and Joe break down the door. There's only four of 'em. I figure one'll watch the hostages, and I can deal with him soon as he gets distracted by you fellas. Two more'll be by the front door, an' the last by the back. Rip, you're the fastest. Circle 'round and take 'em out."

"Got it, boss." Arthur pounded Joe, a strong, silent humanoid, on the back. "Come on, Joe. Let's keep up our winning streak!"

"Easy, there. Getting worked up's no good. Just play it cool," Lee reminded him. "I'm off, then. See you folks on the inside." Whistling cheerfully, he strolled around to the front of the convenience store and through the doors. "Hey, they got any beer in here?"

"Sorry, pal," One of the two Mavericks who'd pointed their magrifles at Lee as soon as he'd entered growled. "We're closed at the moment."

"Ain't that a shame?" Lee replied, slowly raising his hands. "Okay if I come back when you're open again, then?"

"Nice try." The Maverick snorted. "What do you think, Sid? He a Hunter?"

"Nah. I don't see any weapons on him." The other one shook his head. "Not to mention, what kind of Hunter does something _this_ stupid?"

"Yeah, okay. Get on back there with the other hostages." The first Maverick inclined his head. As he went, Lee checked out the rest of the store. He'd been right on the money with his assessment of their probable locations. Reaching the back, he saw a half-dozen hostages crouched on the floor, looking terrified. Two were civilian reploids; the rest were human.

"Take a seat and keep quiet," The Maverick guarding them told him. "Same for you as anybody else. Anybody makes a peep, they get to be an example. Show the Hunters we're serious."

"Gotcha." Lee winked, then made his move. Leaning over, he "accidentally" knocked a nearby display case over onto his foot, and howled in pain. "_Yeow!_"

"Dammit, I warned you!" The guard pointed his magrifle towards Lee, then turned his head in surprise as the front of the store exploded. Lee's scream had been the signal; Arthur and Joe burst through the front, immediately targeting the startled Mavericks. Before the guard could regain his composure, Lee was already on him. A set of razor claws popped out of his wrist gauntlet, hidden until then, and Lee plunged them into his unlucky foe's side, where he'd spotted a weak point in the Maverick's armor. As soon as they sunk in, a million volts surged through straight into the Maverick's internal systems, frying him from the inside out.

The other three Hunters were dealing with their targets just as quickly. Rip was the new kid, but he was showing potential, and the other two were experienced Hunters. The Mavericks hadn't been infected; they were just street trash with big guns. The results were obvious. Once he was sure the enemy was dead, Lee retracted his claws, and let the corpse fall to the floor.

"Sleeper Lee!" Arthur laughed once the other Mavericks were dead as well. "One shot, as usual! You've still got it!"

"It's not as impressive as you make it sound," Lee protested mildly. "I can only do it once for each arm without recharging, remember?"

"Hey, a win's a win, boss," Rip said cheerfully.

"Commander's the boss, not me." Lee shook his head. "I'm just the oldest guy around in this Unit." Turning back to the hostages, he smiled cheerfully at them. "Everything's fine now, folks. Maverick Hunters, doing our duty. Anybody injured?"

"No," A middle-aged man answered after a moment. "We're all fine."

"Well, that's what I like to hear." Lee smiled. "Boss might want to ask you a few questions. Rip, Arthur, take 'em on out to him, huh? Me an' Joe'll handle cleanup."

"You got it." Arthur nodded as the civilians began heading over to them.

"All righty, then." Lee looked around the store once they'd gone. "We can just take 'em out back to the dumpsters, I-" He broke off, surprised, as his gaze passed over the dead Maverick by the back door. There was something hovering in the air above it; a misty, translucent form in gray robes. An obviously mechanical hand was doing something to the corpse. Looking closely, Lee saw a ludicrously tiny sickle between the fingers. Rising, the apparition moved over to the Maverick Lee had killed next, apparently unaware of his gaze.

"Lee?" Joe asked after a moment. "Something wrong?"

"Nah." Lee shook his head. "I'm just overworked, is all. Seeing things. Trick of the light." That earned a snort of humor from Joe; Lee's ability to avoid any work that didn't involve going out into the field was legendary around their Unit.

The spirit was less amused. As soon as Lee had spoken, its head turned up, and Lee could see inside the hood. It was like a skull in skin; there was no nose or ears, eyelids or lips or cheeks, and there never had been. The robot's face had simply been built without them. Grinning silently, it stared at Lee for a long moment, and then it was gone.

"Come on, Joe." Lee shook it off, relaxing. "Let's take out the trash, huh? Boss's gonna be pissed enough at me enough for doing this plan without his okay. Don't need him to come in here and find us slacking off too."

"The Commander is _always_ pissed at you for something," Joe reminded him, hauling one of the corpses onto his shoulders.

"Yeah, I know," Lee sighed, grabbing another. "But a man can get his hopes up, can't he?" Carrying the dead Maverick out, he deliberately put the hallucination out of his thoughts. It was just a glitch in his systems. That was all. He'd get a tune-up as soon as he was back on base, and then he'd never have the problem again.

"Boss says to head on back without him," Arthur said as he rejoined them, along with Rip, once they were done. "He's gonna stay here and handle the publicity."

"Why am I not surprised by this." Lee shook his head, smiling. "Good work today, folks. Let's do what the man says and clock out."

"Eager to head over to see Morrigan?" Rip teased him.

"Wouldn't you, if you were in my shoes?" Lee joked along as the four of them teleported back home. As soon as they arrived, he bid them farewell and made one last check to ensure nothing had come up that needed his attention. With that taken care of, he began making his way towards the darkest corner of the base, both metaphorically and literally.

As with any military organization, the Maverick Hunters took their share of losses in the field, even when there wasn't an uprising going on. In a worst-case scenario, there wasn't anything left to dispose of, or anybody to notify, but that was hardly the majority. For that purpose, the MHHQ kept a small staff on hand to deal with their casualties. Two men-one human, one reploid-and a reploid female. All three had a reputation, unsurprisingly, and no sane Hunter crossed them, or intruded on their workspace without business there.

Lee was an exception. Most days, after his time was up, he found his way over to the tiny corner of the base where the undertakers did their dirty work. Today was no exception; knocking politely before entering, he smiled and inclined his head towards the old man behind the desk, who grunted in response but didn't challenge him. Lee's business here was the same as every other day, and neither of the men were going to argue it. Morrigan had made that point very clear to both of them, and they were nothing if not fast learners.

"-we all miss him already." The object of Lee's attention was on the phone as he entered her office, looking through a file as she spoke. "I know it's not much comfort, but he died a hero. The newspapers won't listen to us, but everybody here knows the truth. We'll remember him. That's all we can do. All right. Yes, that will be fine. He'll be here waiting for you. Goodbye." Hanging up, she turned to regard Lee. "I heard you took care of business again today. How's da chief taking it?"

"Oh, you know how Sirius gets." Lee chuckled, closing the door behind him. "How's your day been, then?"

"Business as usual." Morrigan shrugged, tossing the file into a wastebasket. A pale, raven-haired beauty in jet-black armor, she'd spent her early years working with an old man in a funeral parlor until the owner's death. Following that, his son had callously sold off the business, and Morrigan had applied for a position with the Hunters. "There _was_ only one death today. Perhaps I should be happy about that."

"Sweet on the line, sour off of it. Just like always." Lee bent over and plucked the file out of the trash. Morrigan's voice was her greatest skill; warm and emotional, it could make even a standard notice of death sound actually heartfelt, which was why she always made the calls. Half the time, she didn't even know who the deceased was. "Anybody noteworthy?"

"A new man in the 14th." Morrigan turned back to her desk. "Some stupid kid in over his head. There was a situation with a cannon emplacement over in the United States, so the fool went and charged in headlong on a bike. That little stunt got himself _and_ his ride both destroyed."

"Aw, man." Lee winced, then asked the usual question. "That's why I always tell folks not to get worked up. So why'd you play it up on the phone?"

"He's dead," She answered calmly. "The people he put as next of kin obviously cared about him. I can't bring him back, but I can make them feel a little better about it. Why shouldn't I do what I can?"

"I just think it's cute, is all." Lee smiled; they'd had this conversation a million times before, but it never failed to amuse him, seeing her show even the slightest traces of sentimentality. It was the only thing he'd ever seen get to her. "You off the clock?"

"Yes, that was the last thing I had to do today." Tidying up her desk, Morrigan gave him a look. "Don't get any ideas, now. I just tidied up, and I want to keep this room neat for a while. You can wait until we get back to our quarters."

"Yes, _ma'am_." Lee saluted, prompting a tolerant roll of her eyes. Opening the office door again, he bowed grandiosely, which she ignored, and followed her out.

"You know where I'll be, Adrian," Morrigan told her boss as they walked past. "If something big turns up, give me a call, and I'll come back down." Another noncommittal grunt was the only response she got; it was the old man's preferred method of communication with anybody he actually liked, which wasn't very many people. Those he did eventually learned to interpret them over time, to some degree.

"Now, don't go tempting fate," Lee said as they walked down the halls. "That ain't too likely to happen, considering there ain't an Uprising going on."

"There have been times when a lot of Hunters have died all at once that weren't Uprisings," Morrigan replied coolly. "It's best to be prepared. Not all of us are content with being surprised by everything that comes along."

"Now that one hurt." Lee chuckled.

"Liar." She smiled, ever-so-slightly. The two of them had been together for years now, and they knew each other well enough to predict most of each others' replies in conversation, but it never seemed to get old, somehow. "So, do you mind filling me in on how _your_ day went? I heard da chief's angry at you again, but that's not a surprise. Just the opposite, really. That, and that there was a hostage situation downtown."

"Oh, it wasn't anything special." Lee shrugged, opening the door of their quarters for her. They weren't as spacious as a Commander's, but they had both been with the Hunters for a while, so it was slightly less cramped than the bottom level bunks. "Just a bunch of down-and-out punks with big weapons, big ideas, and small brain chips. Didn't really know what they were doing. Almost felt sorry for 'em."

"Almost. But not quite." Crossing to a cabinet, Morrigan got out a pair of wineglasses and began pouring for both of them. When Lee started to move to do it for her, she shot him a glance, and he gave in, dropping into a chair.

"Got a job to do, like anybody else." He closed his eyes with a smile. "Did it, and got the hostages out fine. Think Sirius got 'em to give him some quotes for publicity. Hope he didn't try and get 'em to talk about me too much again."

"It's not _their_ fault you're good." Morrigan teased, joining him. "All right, if you don't want to talk about yourself, how did the others do? There were three others on that problem besides you and da chief, right? Wasn't one of them new?"

"Rip's been around for a bit now, but he could still use some more field experience," Lee explained. "Did well today, though. Brought his mark down from behind in no time. He'll be a good Hunter in no time at all, if he makes it."

"If he makes it." Morrigan gave him a wry smirk. "You sound like one of those maniacs in the 13th."

"No, thank _you._" Lee shook his head fervently. "Couldn't get me in _that_ outfit no matter how much you paid. No sir, 6th Unit's just fine with me. Even with the boss mucking things up every now and then."

"I still don't know how you can stand working under him," Morrigan remarked idly, turning on the television. "I know I wouldn't be able to."

"Good thing you don't have to, then." Lee glanced at the screen. For a moment, he considered telling her about the specter he'd seen, but decided against it. There was no real point to it. "Need to go see one of the docs sometime soon, though. Optics're acting up funny."

"Lifesaver should be able to fix that up," Morrigan said, flipping through channels. "He knows what he's doing."

"Sure hope so." Lee chuckled. "Be wondering _what_ he was doing, running the department around here, if he didn't."

"Say what you will about our new glorious leader, he doesn't hire amateurs."

"Now, give Signas more of a break than that," Lee objected calmly. "Man's no Doc Cain, but he does the best he can. Ain't exactly an easy job, after all." He watched the television for a few more moments, then shook his head. "Aw, this show ain't no good."

"It doesn't seem like any of them are right now," Morrigan agreed, turning the set off. "Any other ideas?"

"Could just turn in." Lee yawned theatrically. "Been a long day, after all. Might do us good to catch up on our rest."

"You're not fooling anybody," Morrigan said, smiling all the same. "The day you need _more_ sleep is the day I volunteer to skip my paycheck." Despite her words, though, she stood and began taking off her armor.

It ended up being some time before they actually slept, as usual.

* * *

_ "We're Hunters, Lee. We're supposed to save people. So why can't we? Why aren't we able to save a single person?" _

"Shit," Lee muttered, eyes snapping open, banishing the dream of fire and blood. "Guess that's it for sleepin' tonight."

"It's almost time to get up, anyways." Morrigan said quietly, without turning to look at him. "Sky Lagoon again?"

"Yep," Lee admitted. "As usual. You too?"

"I've been awake for about two hours now," She answered indirectly. "I didn't want to get out of bed and wake you as well."

"There was somethin' weird this time, though," Lee added, frowning. "Can't quite remember what it was, but..." Before he could figure it out, further conversation was cut off by a pounding on the door. Sighing, they both glanced at each other, then rolled out of bed and dressed themselves in a flash before answering the door.

"Was there something?" Morrigan said dryly as soon as it was opened. "We might have been busy, you know."

"At this hour?" Arthur snorted, unfazed. "Not likely. Morning, both of ya. Check _this_ out." He held up a newspaper, the headline of which screamed that the government had finally approved the country's first inter-species adoption. "Looks like the chief finally pulled it off."

"Well, now indeed," Lee said, taking it from him and reading some of the article aloud. "Lessee here... 'Veteran Maverick Hunter and unit commander Sirius and his wife of seven years, Laura, have been campaigning to legally adopt Simon King, orphaned son of a human Hunter from Sirius' unit for nearly a year...' aw, for chrissakes." He handed the paper back to Arthur in disgust. "Can't even get her name right? Lisa ain't gonna be happy when she sees that."

"She's seen worse," Arthur said, shrugging. "Come on, Lee. This is great and you know it. Looks like all the chief's work with the PR paid off."

"Should I feel sorry for the boy?" Morrigan asked skeptically. "I remember the name. Damon King's son, isn't he? I met him once, after his father was killed. Sweet kid."

"Naw, he'll be fine," Lee assured her. "I keep tellin' ya, the chief ain't that bad, an' Lisa's a good woman. They were both friends o' Damon, an' Simon likes 'em too. That's why the chief's been workin' so hard for this."

"Yeah, no problem there," Arthur agreed. "More importantly, chief'll be in a good mood for the next month, so he might actually lay off us a bit."

"Perhaps it will rain beer, as well," Morrigan said dryly.

"Be nice," Lee told her. "Well, it's still an hour before I have to be on duty. I'm gonna drop by and see if Lifesaver's in Med Bay yet. Still need that checkup."

"Without an appointment?" Morrigan asked, smirking. "Good thing Lifesaver's more forgiving than old man Hazil was. See you tonight, then, handsome."

"'Til then, gorgeous." Lee left her in their quarters, walking off down the hall with Arthur. "I don't deserve that girl, you know?"

"Yeah, like anybody in this base does?" Arthur chuckled a little. "She wasn't looking too hot this morning, actually, Lee. Something happen?"

"Nightmares," Lee said, sighing. "Sky Lagoon again."

"Oh." Arthur fell silent for a moment. "Should have guessed." Scratching his head uncomfortably, he looked away. "Well, I'll let you go see Lifesaver then. I'm gonna see if any of the new guys are putting in overtime in the training room."

"Don't kill 'em too bad," Lee joked as they split up. Humming a little, he opened the door to the Medical Bay. "Anybody in here?"

"Mister Lee," Lifesaver, the Maverick Hunters' head doctor, glanced over from his desk. "A pleasure to see you, of course. I take it, judging by the fact that you shouldn't be on the clock yet, that you need something from me."

"Now, you say that like a fella can't drop by just to say hi," Lee leaned against the wall. "Any reason I can't?"

"No, no reason," Lifesaver replied absently. "Except that if that was it, you'd have waited until you _were_ on the clock."

"Guilty as charged," Lee admitted. "Mind givin' my optics a quick check? Was havin' a little trouble with 'em yesterday."

"You're lucky you're trying this with me, and not my predecessor." Lifesaver shook his head. "From what I hear, he'd have stuck a joy buzzer in your helmet dataport if you'd tried bothering him at this hour. Speaking of which, pop it open."

"Sounds about right," Lee agreed, doing so. He'd liked old man Hazil well enough, but it was nice to have a doctor who didn't run the risk of hurting you more than he helped you. A moment later, Lifesaver shoved a jack into the port, and glanced down at his portable scanner.

"Let's see here... no, it looks like everything's optimal." The medical reploid frowned. "What exactly was the problem? Blurring, hallucinations, sensitivity to light?"

"None of that, nope," Lee shook his head, fighting a shot of worry. "Just saw something funny after the fightin' was over. Almost looked like some kind of ghost, or somethin'. Didn't really get a good look at it."

"Well, if it was only a momentary thing, it might have been nothing, depending on where you were." Lifesaver unplugged the jack. "Just let me know if it happens again. Once could just be a long day, but if it's recurring... well, let's hope it's not."

"I'm with ya there, doc," Lee agreed. In actuality, he had no intention of talking to the doctor about it again. Physical issues were one thing; his psych profile was another. Lifesaver seemed like a good doctor, but that wasn't a guarantee that he'd let the same things pass as old man Hazil had, if he opened Lee's file up and actually looked through it in detail. "Thanks for the check-up. Hope nothin' blows up in here today."

"I would find that funnier if that hadn't happened a week ago," Lifesaver said coldly. "Which, of course, you are aware of."

"Relax, doc." Lee waved as he left. "Your hair'll turn gray like old man Hazil's did if you keep that up. Catch you around." Once he was clear of the med bay, he let the cheerful smirk drop. _Damn. If it ain't my eyes... maybe something _is_ getting to me. But what? Everything's been going smooth as far as I can tell._ Shaking his head, he continued down the hall towards the training room, where he was scheduled to lead some of the unit's newer members in a training exercise.

The sound of an explosion from another portion of the base caught his immediate attention. The building didn't shake-it was too well-built for that, after the numerous times Mavericks had trashed the place-but the sound alone was enough to have Lee running down the hall towards the garage, where he judged its source to be. The alarm wasn't going off, so chances are it was only an accident, rather than anything more serious. All the same, he kept running until he reached the garage.

When he arrived, an unpleasant sight confirmed his guess. Smoke was pouring from the flaming ruin of a Landchaser hoverbike, sitting in the middle of a scorch mark that covered the floor for a good ten feet. The unfortunate reploid who'd been seated on it looked even worse. There could be no doubt that the poor sap was dead, and permanently. Nothing in the world would be able to save the control chip, let alone the rest of him.

"All right, folks," Lee turned to the rest of the garage crew, who were staring at the remains of their coworker with a mixture of shock and horror. "Figure you've got about half a minute before somebody who's gonna be a lot more worked up about this than I am gets here, so you might wanna tell me first. What happened here, huh?"

"Ned was just starting it up," One of the mechanics explained. "We just got this new one in today. We told him we should give it a good diagnostic before anybody took it out on a test run, but he wouldn't listen, and..." He glanced over at the burning remnants, then tore his eyes away, shuddering. "We tried to tell him."

"That's why I tell 'em not to get too fired up," Lee said, shaking his head. "Lemme guess. State it's in right now, we ain't gonna find out why it went up like that?"

"I don't think it was sabotage," Another mechanic replied. "There's a hundred different reasons that could have happened if the guys who built it screwed up. Every so often one of these Landchasers has something wrong with it when it comes in. We usually catch it when we do the diagnostic as soon as it gets in, but this time, Ned fired it up before anybody could stop him. He's only worked here for about six months, and he was kind of reckless. Even if nothing happened, he'd probably have been written up for this."

"Better that than this, friend," Lee said sadly, looking back at the corpse. As soon as he did, his eyes widened. The same gray-cloaked specter from the mission yesterday was back again, leaning against a wall with its arms folded. Its eyes met Lee, conscious of his gaze, and glittered with amusement as it raised a finger to its lipless teeth. Locked in that pose, it faded away into the air, and was gone.

"Shit," Lee muttered, holding a hand to his head. Looking away, he waved at the mechanics. "Go on, start gettin' this mess cleaned up. I'll try and field explainin' to any of the big shots who come down here. You folks just haul the poor kid over to Morrigan-she's already in-and explain things to her, then take care of the rest of this."

"Dammit, Lee," One of the older mechanics rolled his eyes. "You know what kind of mood this'll put her in. How about _you_ take Ned down to her, and _we'll_ handle explaining this to everybody, huh?"

"Now, that's harsh," Lee said, smiling faintly. "Morrigan ain't _that_ bad." He paused, then winced. "You're probably right about what seein' a kid like this, dead like this, this early in the mornin' is gonna do to her temper, though. No siree, I think it's best if someone who _doesn't_ have to share quarters with her takes care of it. As for you folks, I hear Bulldog from the 13th might be in early today. You folks really wanna chance havin' to explain this to _him_?"

"Man's got a point," Another mechanic had to admit. "All right, fellas, let's do what he says." Grumbling a little, the mechanics got to work.

"Here comes the hurricane, then," Lee noted, hearing footsteps approaching quickly. Deliberately putting every thought of the specter out of his mind, he squared his shoulders and prepared for the approaching inquisition. Compared to the prospect of facing down some of the hardasses in the top ranks of the Hunters, he'd take seeing ghosts any day.

Fortunately, it turned out that the first unit commander on the scene was a fairly easygoing one from the 11th, who accepted the news in stride and offered to take care of it from there. Lee was only too happy to let him do so, returning to his usual duties for the rest of the day. There were no more incidents; everything went smoothly until the late afternoon, when he strolled past Sirius' office, inspecting some files on a datapad as he walked.

"Lee!" His commander's voice bellowed from the office. "Where have you been all day? Get in here, _now!_ And close the damned door behind you!"

"Yessir," Lee drawled, doing so and locking it, just in case.

"Good." Sirius deflated as soon as they were out of sight of anybody else. "I know it's necessary, but I still feel bad every time I play that act on you."

"It was my idea in the first place," Lee reminded him, taking a seat before the commander's desk and kicking idly at it as he leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "Gotta make sure everybody keeps in mind who's in charge in this Unit somehow."

"Yeah, I know," Sirius growled, leaning back in his own chair. Drawing a pair of cigars, he tossed one to Lee and lit his own. "All the same, I'm glad nobody asks why you're the only one I scream at that much. I don't think I'd be able to manage it with any of the others and keep a straight face."

"You'd probably be able to get away with it with Arthur," Lee told him, taking a puff of the cigar. "And Annie. Maybe Joe, too. Keep that in mind, if I end up gettin' wasted in the field sometime soon."

"Will you stop talking like that?" Sirius said crankily. "You're not going to die any time soon. Unlike me, you're too good for that."

"Now who's being pessimistic?" Lee shot back. "You're the one who's got a kid to stick around for now. Saw the news on that. Congratulations."

"The PR for the Hunters will more than make up for all the hoops of shit I had to jump through to make it happen," Sirius mused aloud. "This is the best thing I've ever pulled off in that regard. Not just for the Hunters, but for all reploids. The implications are just going to keep on spreading further and further." He sighed. "Which means all three of us will probably have to watch out for death threats for a while, even Simon. In the end, though, it'll be worth it."

"Lisa'll be happy, too," Lee added.

"Yeah," Sirius agreed. "Yeah, she will be. And Simon will, as well. I'm gonna do everything I can for that boy, Lee. I owe him that much, and more."

"You still feel bad about Damon, then?" Lee asked, glancing at a wall where a photo hung, identical to the one in his own quarters. Five of the veterans of the 6th Unit stared back, mugging shamelessly for the camera. He'd meant it as a joke when he dubbed the scene "Class of November 2121," but somewhere along the line, all of those in it had started referring to it, and themselves, by that description.

"Of course I do," Sirius said, closing his eyes. "It _was_ my fault, Lee. I shouldn't have transferred him back into the 6th after all the human Hunters were moved into the 13th four years ago. Even if he begged me to, even if he'd been in the 6th for ten years with the rest of us... he'd still be alive today if I hadn't. I shouldn't have done it."

"I'd tell you there were worse things than dyin', if it weren't for Simon," Lee pointed out. "Havin' a kid complicates things a little more. Even so, like you said, it was Damon's call. He knew the risks. We all do."

"You're in a grim mood," Sirius noted. "Even for you. Did something happen? I heard about that incident in the garage..."

"Eh, it's just been one of those days." Lee shrugged. "Happens to all of us." He puffed on the cigar for a bit more before continuing. "You ever think about what it'll be like? When it's our turn to go?"

"No, I don't," Sirius answered flatly. "I've got too much to concentrate on in my life right now to think about death. And you do too, if you'd ever actually do any work that didn't involve rolling the dice. You're just lucky Hazil gave you a "close enough" on your psych eval. Somehow, I doubt Lifesaver would do the same. It's about time you got your mind on something else, and keep it that way." He gave Lee a direct look. "Besides, you've got plenty to live for too, you know. What'd happen to Morrigan if you got yourself killed, huh?

"Now, don't go bringin' Morrigan into this," Lee told him. "'Sides, that's complicated and you know it. She's a special gal. She'd have to be, to go for a fella like me. And not just because of my dashing good looks, either."

"No comment," Sirius said dryly, rolling his eyes. "Fine, but I warned you. Anything happen today I should know about, then?"

"Just the usual." Lee tapped his fingers, thinking. "Rip's comin' along nicely, though. Next time something low-level comes along, might wanna let him take the lead. Once he gets some more experience, he'll be one of our best."

"I'll keep that in mind," Sirius promised as they both stubbed out their cigars. "Dinner with the girls tomorrow night, as usual?"

"Is it Saturday already?" Lee blinked, then counted on his fingers. "Guess it is. Where's the time go, huh? Yeah, of course. Just let us know the time and place. Gonna bring the kid?"

"Maybe." Sirius rolled his eyes. "We'll see. I'm not even going to comment on your sense of time. Go on, get out of here already, little bro." He waited until Lee had opened the door again before shouting. "Out! _Out!_ And don't let me see your face again until you do something to actually earn your paycheck for once, you bum!" Crossing to the door after Lee, he slammed it.

"Check it out," A new, dim-looking Hunter whispered to another as Lee walked away, unconcerned. "He actually _smells_ like brimstone." That got a brief chuckle out of Lee as he made his way back to see Morrigan again. It was one of their little jokes, the way he made his way to death's door every evening.

* * *

_ The sky was on fire, just like everything else. Red was the color of the world around them, red and orange and black, as Baltimore burned and died, and the people within it burned and died as well. Sky Lagoon had fallen, and those directly beneath had been the lucky ones. They'd been killed instantly. Everyone who'd been within a ten-mile radius of the impact site was spared even that small mercy. Maybe one in ten could be saved. The rest were a lost cause. But even one in ten, or one in a hundred, was something, and that's why they were there. _

_ "Fuckin' hell!" Lee roared, shielding his eyes from the ash on the wind. "Knew there were some Mavericks around here! Where'd they go?" _

_ "They're gone, Lee," Arthur told him. "Saw 'em flying over that way. They ran straight into some of the 00 Unit. Those guys are demons. The Mavericks never stood a chance." The two of them had joined the Hunters months ago around the same time, and had been partnered together often since then, Arthur's calm gravity a good match for Lee's wild temperament. _

_ "Shit," Lee spat. "You see anybody?" _

_ "Looks like that office building over there's still mostly intact." Arthur pointed. "Let's check it out." _

_ "Right." Lee kicked the door down, and the two of them began combing the halls. Seeing a couple of corpses in a room, he dug his fingers into his palm. "You hear about who was up there when it went down? Fuckin' Repliforce. Never trusted those bastards. Signed their own death warrants, this time. Hunters ain't gonna let this pass. We'll track down every last one of 'em and do 'em like they did Sky Lagoon, 'cept a lot slower." _

_ "I hadn't thought Repliforce would go this far, but the evidence does seem to be mounting up." Arthur agreed, forcing an elevator door open and shaking his head at the dead reploid he found inside. "Commander Siris said that Zero encountered Colonel from Repliforce personally, and he refused to stand down and come in for questioning. He even threatened to fight back if forced. If that's not damning, I don't know what is." _

_ "Damning, huh?" Lee looked out a window at the bloody clouds and laughed, harsh and mocking. "Lookin' to me like we're all damned here, pal. Eight Maverick Hunter Units providing relief, and we're still barely doin' anything."  
"That's not funny, Lee." Arthur said quietly. Pulling open a door, he froze for a moment before rushing in. "Lee, come here! There's a child in this room!" _

_ "What?" Lee dashed over. "Art, a kid couldn't have made it this long..." He stopped, eyes widening, as his partner began pulling aside fallen furniture and pieces of rubble. In an instant, he saw what Arthur hadn't. "Wait. Hold on there." _

_ "What are you saying?" Arthur roared, nearly throwing a chunk of wall Lee's head. "It's a little girl, damn your eyes! Come here and help me, already! What's wrong with you?" _

_ "Art, it's too late." Lee slowly walked over. "The kid's dead. Living people... they don't end at the waist." Gingerly, he pulled on the girl's arm, and she came away from the pile easily. She weighed almost nothing at all. _

_ "What..." Arthur stared at the girl, then toppled to his knees. Looking at his hands, he began shaking, as if he was responsible for the blood that had spread to them from the wreckage he'd tried to pull up. "What are we doing here, Lee?" _

_ "We're savin' lives, Art," Lee reminded him. "Get up, now. You ain't wounded, I know you ain't. Come on, we got work to do." _

_ "No we're not." Arthur murmured, still staring at his own massive hands. "We haven't found a single survivor here. Not one." He didn't turn away, didn't rise, didn't move anything except his lips. "We're Hunters, Lee. We're supposed to save people. So why can't we? Why aren't we able to save a single person?" _

_ "Dammit, Art, get up!" Lee began to shout, growing more and more frenzied. "What the fuck are you even saying? You're just sitting there, and more of 'em could be dying right now! We won't know until we look! We gotta try! Even if we don't find a single one, we gotta try! Get up, damn you! _Get your fat ass up!_" He reared his foot back, about to kick his partner in the side, only to freeze in place, against his will. Arthur froze as well, as did everything else. The flicker of flames outside, the ash in the air, it all just paused. _

Then the specter walked into the room, and Lee's memory returned.

"So this was it for you, huh?" The skull-faced robot in the gray cloak asked, voice rhetorical. "I remember this one, all right. Baltimore, 2129. Hell of a mess. More business than the second and the third Uprisings combined, in less than a second, and they just mounted up more and more after that." Moving over to the child's corpse, he regarded it, eyes a mystery. "That's the way it goes, with these things. They're all bad, but there's bad, and then there's _bad._ The older ones were the same way. The Rebellions, I mean."

"What's goin' on here?" Lee asked; speaking seemed to be the only thing he could do. "I've had nightmares about this before. All the time, really. But you weren't in any of 'em. Matter of fact, _I_ was never in any of 'em, not like I am now. Always kept thinkin' like I still did back then, 'til it was up and over with."

"Good question," The robot said, walking towards the window and staring out of it. "Shame I can't answer it. You're a quick thinker, though. And you act like you're not. Interesting. You've got potential, Lee. All I can say right now is that you're _not_ going crazy, and you're _not _seeing things. And the nice thing is, when you wake up, you won't even remember I told you that much. I'll let you get back to your regularly scheduled programming now."

"Hey, wait!" Lee yelled, helpless, as the robot jumped through the window. He knew what was next, now, and he didn't want to see it, but it looked like he didn't have a choice. The world leaped into motion again, and his body moved like it had back then, against his will. _At the last moment, a noise distracted him, and he put his foot down. Turning, he saw a cabinet door jostle. Leaving Arthur there, he pulled it open, wary of possible Maverick attacks. _

_ The girl inside was a Reploid, but clearly no Maverick. She was black-armored, pale with dark hair and eyes, and looked like she would normally be beautiful in a slightly cold way. At the moment, though, she was a terrified mess. Eyes nearly starting from their sockets, she was splayed in the back of the cabinet, a pair of dead humans in there with her. By the looks of it, something had exploded behind them, blowing them into the cabinet, and she'd been either unable or unwilling to pull them out before hiding inside. _

_ "Oy!" Lee yelled. "Why didn't you say anything, dumbass?" He stared, failing to understand, while his future self watched despairingly, no longer even able to control his words. _

_ "Please..." She whispered, barely audible. "Please make it fast... if there's anything left in you that still has a soul... kill me quickly..." _

_ "I ain't-" Lee started to roar, then stopped. When he spoke again, his voice was just as quiet as hers. "You stupid... I ain't a Maverick. I'm a Maverick Hunter... I'm a goddamned Maverick Hunter, not a Maverick." _

_ "You're a Hunter?" She asked, disbelieving, and making no moves. Her eyes still held just as much fear. "Then where were you when it happened? Why didn't you save anybody?" She motioned at the corpses numbly. "They were just here to get a job, like me. They were so kind, even if I was a reploid. Why couldn't you save them?" Her eyes were fixed on his, terror giving way to despair. "Why did they die instead of me, mister Hunter?" _

_ No matter how hard he tried, Lee had no answer for her. He simply stood there, as silent as Arthur, as the world continued to collapse around the three of them. _

_ The sky was on fire, just like everything else. Red was the color of the world around them, red and orange and black, as the city burned and died, and the people within it burned and died as well. Sky Lagoon had fallen, and those who'd died instantly had been the lucky ones. Maybe one in ten could be saved. But even one in ten, or one in a hundred, wasn't enough, and it would never be enough for any of the damned souls who would remember the day the Fourth Maverick Uprising began for the rest of their lives. _

_

* * *

_

The problem with having a short-range weapon, as opposed to a long-range one, was that you _felt_ it when your target died. Lee hadn't really thought about it for a long time, but recent events had changed that. It was more noticeable when you were keeping an eye out for your invisible friend every time it happened. Now that he was watching, Lee was seeing that the moment he appeared was when the kill was made, materializing in an instant to stab with the ridiculously tiny blade he carried. Checking on the corpse afterward seemed to be more of a ritual, or perhaps a formality.

Sighing, Lee let the dead Maverick slide off his claws and turned away. The specter had started acting friendly towards him, miming slapping him on the back or punching him in the arm when it could, and he didn't need to see things any more disturbing than they already were. To make things worse, his dreams had been strange lately; whenever he woke up, sometimes it seemed like there was something important he was forgetting, but he could never quite place it.

"Sorry, Lee," Rip apologized, dashing over to join him in the secluded glade, a nice touch to the public park they'd been dispatched to. "He got away from me."

"Rookie mistake, Rip," Lee admonished him, then regretted it instantly; not so much because of the downcast look the little Hunter's face took, but since it wasn't the sort of thing he would normally say. "That was 'bout the only thing, though. You handled everything else just fine. Good work out there."

"Thanks, Lee," Rip perked up a little, though his eyes still remained steady. "I'll do better next time."

"Just remember, don't get too worked up," Lee told him. "Let's go take care of the cleanup, then. We leave the corpses lying around, boss'll give us hell and back. Check for the Virus, too, while we're at it."

It had been business as usual for the 6th Unit. When humans occasionally flipped out, started raving about the end of the world and threatened bystanders, local police were usually able to handle it. When it was reploids, on the other hand, the Maverick Hunters were called in, and they rarely took prisoners. Lee had been nominally in charge, but as soon as he'd taken in the situation, he'd told Rip to step up instead, and he hadn't been disappointed. Forgetting to cover the boarded-up window had been his only mistake, and one that hadn't led to any injuries or worse.

"Think there's any chance the boss'll let it go, too?" Rip asked hopefully once they were done taking out the trash.

"What do you think?" Lee asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Not a chance, huh?"

"Nope." Chuckling, Lee slapped him on the back. "Relax, it'll be fine. Commander doesn't yell at anybody else nearly as much as me, no matter how bad they screw up. He'll just scream at you for about ten seconds then leave. You can take that, right?"

"Easy," Rip scoffed, then looked up at him. "Hey, Lee. Can I ask you a question?"

"Seems to me like you just did," Lee replied. "Kiddin', kiddin'. Go ahead."

"How'd Commander Sirius, well..." Rip struggled with it. "How did he _become_ a Unit commander, if he's so bad at fighting?"

"See, that's the thing," Lee explained. "Most of the time, that's how it turns out, right? Authority equals ass-kicking, and all that. Except see, that ain't always gonna work. Just 'cause somebody's the meanest customer around doesn't mean he necessarily knows how to command troops. A while back, some folks in the GDC started raisin' heat about that, askin' if we'd just give the rank to some hardass biker who strolled in and beat up everybody he saw. Ol' Doc Cain eventually threw 'em a bone by promoting a Hunter with talents in other areas, and Sirius was the one."

"Guess that makes sense," Rip admitted. "He's just... not that impressive, is all. Sorry, Lee, but it's the truth."

"Looks can be deceiving, especially in this Unit, kiddo," Lee told him gravely. "Back when the two of us started out, I didn't know shit about tactics or planning. I just killed every Maverick I saw. Sirius was the one with the brain, and he taught me everything I knew. Sure, he's as lousy as they come in direct combat, but ask 'im for a few tips when it comes to usin' your head, and he'll probably surprise you."

"I will," Rip promised. He started to say something else, then paused, looking hesitant. After a moment, he continued. "Look, Lee. Don't tell any of the others I told you this, but... some of the guys in the Unit are starting to talk about you."

"Really now," Lee raised an eyebrow, leaning against a nearby wall. The rest of the Hunters who'd accompanied them rounded the corner, and Lee waved at them to head back, changing the conversation until they were gone. "Now what you gotta remember is to start with the spine, not the neck. That's where amateurs always screw up... right. I'm guessin' these aren't exactly nice things they're sayin', here."

"Yeah, no," Rip said, wincing. "They're saying that you're seeing things, Lee. That you're... not right in the head." He took a deep breath before continuing. "And today... you kind of looked like you were, after you killed that last guy."

"Really?" Lee scratched his head, mind racing for a believable bluff. "Well shit, that ain't good. How bad was it today? Was I just kind of zoned out? Or was I doin' the whole 'blind-without-them' gig?"

"Huh?" Rip blinked, surprised. "Uh... more the first."

"Well, maybe that's just some systems damage." Lee suggested, frowning, playing for time. "I didn't even know I was doin' it. Think I'd better talk with Morrigan about this, maybe set somethin' up with Lifesaver. Thanks for the heads-up. Suppose you ain't gonna tell me who it was, though?"

"I'd prefer not to," Rip admitted, then looked away. "Not Arthur, though. When they started asking him about it, he just said to shut the hell up and not talk about that shit where he could hear them ever again."

"Yeah, that's Art, all right," Lee agreed, relieved. Arthur was one of the only people who actually knew about his issues. "Lemme just make a few guesses, here, though. Castor, right? An' Renee. Maybe Vandemar, too."

"All of the above," Rip muttered, closing his eyes. "And Joe."

"Joe, huh?" Lee did the same. "Shit. Wasn't expecting that." He thought about it for a moment, then nodded firmly. "Right. I won't tell any of the others in the Unit you said this, but if it's Joe, Sirius needs to know. I'll keep your name out of it." He sighed. "Probably talk it over with Morrigan too, but she knows how to keep her mouth shut about this kinda stuff."

"I thought maybe he should," Rip agreed. "I didn't want to be a snitch, but... yeah. Thanks, Lee. Sorry about all this."

"Shit happens, Rip," Lee told him gravely. "We gotta deal. Let's head back."

They went their separate ways once they'd returned, Rip heading off to meet up with some friends down at the on-site bar, and Lee going to meet up with Morrigan. He considered dropping by to see Sirius first, but decided against it; that could be done tomorrow morning. Instead, he made his way down to her corner of MHHQ as usual. She was working on a corpse, but he didn't mind, simply leaning against a wall and waiting until she was done.

"Hello, Lee," She growled, marching out past him and out of the department. After a moment spent blinking in surprise, he followed her.

"Bad day?"

"You could say that." She snapped, and Lee decided to keep his mouth shut. They walked back to their quarters in silence; only when the door was safely shut behind them, and Morrigan pouring some wine, did he try again. "What happened?"

"First you have to promise not to think I'm a bitch," She said quietly.

"Morrigan." Lee caught her gaze. "I've seen you threaten to put superglue in some punk kid's veins next time he was out of it in Med Bay, and I didn't think that then. Now you wanna tell me what's gotcha so worked up?"

"Very well." Morrigan sat down. "That child from the 13th woke up today."

"You mean the one who's been in a coma for 'bout two years?" Lee replied after a moment. "So why's that a bad... thing..." He slowly smiled, realizing it. "I get it. Means you were _wrong_ about something."

"Not at the time, I wasn't," Morrigan muttered. "He showed no signs that he would ever be coming out of it. It was a miracle that he lived that long anyways, with those injuries. Letting him go would have been the logical thing to do."

"Always the cold one, huh." Lee's voice was as casual as always, but Morrigan knew him better than anybody else, and she picked up on what wasn't being said.

"You never disagreed with me about it before," She protested.

"Didn't say I was now." Lee shrugged. "Some people might figure death's somethin' you shouldn't be all logical about, that's all."

"Ridiculous." She closed her eyes. "Death is the most logical thing in the world. You know that." Opening them again, she frowned. "You're acting stranger than I am tonight. What happened to _you_ today?"

"No slippin' anything past you," Lee teased her halfheartedly. "Perceptive as always. Guess I shouldn't be surprised."

"Lee," She told him firmly. "Talk."

"Rip told me some bad news," He explained quietly. "Seems Joe's been stirrin' up talk in the 6th behind my back. I'm gonna need to go see Sirius about that first thing tomorrow mornin'."

"Joe. I see." Her voice turned flat. "I never liked him. Something about him always rubbed me the wrong way. I suppose now I know why. What exactly have they been saying? It can't be anything normal. You're hardly past your prime."

"You say the nicest things about me, darlin'." Lee smiled briefly, then let it drop. "They're sayin' I'm actin' crazy now. Like I'm seein' things."

"Are you?" She asked quietly.

"Morrigan..." Lee started to reply, then broke off. Their relationship was far from ordinary, in many ways, and he'd never been able to bring himself to lie to her, whether he wanted to or not. "Shit. Yeah, I am. Have been for a couple months now."

"I thought so," She murmured. "That was when you said you needed Lifesaver to check your optics. You never told me how that went. Hallucinations, then?"

"Sort of," Lee hedged. "Nothin' huge. Just this... guy. If I didn't know better I'd think he was a robot master. He's been showin' up every time I see a reploid die. Like some kind of..." He searched for a word.

"Reaper of robots?" She raised an eyebrow.

"That's a poetic way to put it." Lee thought about it, then nodded. "Accurate, too. Takes off after a few seconds. Nobody else ever sees him, an' he never makes a sound. Tried grabbin' him once, when nobody was around. Hand passed right through." There seemed to be something else important, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

"How very strange." She mulled it over for a moment. "No audible hallucinations, just visual. All of those following a pattern. I assume this... reaper doesn't act the same every time."

"Nope." Lee shook his head. "Guy acts like he's got quite the sense o' humor, really. _Nasty_ sense, but it's there."

"All right, here's what we're going to do," She decided. "Talk with da chief tomorrow. Have him deal with Joe for now. He won't be able to make the problem go away completely, but with luck, he'll be able to stall it until we find an explanation. I'll bring a record of robot master models back here, and we can look it over tomorrow night. Maybe this ghost of yours, whoever he is, will be in there. If he's not, well, we'll plan for that if it happens. But if he is... maybe there'll be some more information we can follow up on."

"You don't think I'm crazy, then," He said it calmly, but just that much made him feel a little better.

"Of course not." She smiled, and for just a moment, the black ice in her eyes dissipated. "If you were crazy, I'd know it. Just like you would, if I was. This isn't crazy. There's _something_ seriously wrong here, but it's not crazy. Whatever it is, we'll figure it out." She laughed a little. "It's not like either of us was adamant in our beliefs about what's possible and what's impossible anyways. Why _wouldn't_ you be haunted by the ghost of a robot master?"

"Why not, indeed?" Lee smiled as well, then chuckled. "When you put it that way, it all starts makin' sense."

"I thought it might." She put a hand on his shoulder briefly, then got up. "Shall we turn in, then?"

"Sounds like a plan." Lee nodded. "Better get a good night's sleep while we can. Tomorrow ain't likely to be pleasant."

"Worry about tomorrow tomorrow," She told him, leading him to their bed.

* * *

_ "6__th__ Unit, is it?" Arthur glanced over at Lee. "Well, it could be worse. I've heard they're a solid outfit. Not top grade, but not the dregs either." _

_ "Suppose so," Lee agreed with only a slight trace of bitterness. "Guess the 21__st__ was too much to hope for." _

_ "You knew that already," Arthur reminded him. "We can't always get what we want. Let's see, who else... two more from our class. One called Joe; that's simple enough. Some human named Damon King, and-" _

_ "Don't tell me." Lee closed his eyes. "Sirius." _

_ "You guessed it." Arthur grinned. "Hey, you're the one who told him you'd pick up his slack when he screwed up. Looks like whoever decided these assignments figured you could keep on doing it. You never told me why exactly you did that. It's not really like you." _

_ "Tch." Lee gave his friend an irritated glance. They'd hit it off as soon as they'd met in the same training class, buddying up from then on. If they were in the same Unit, that probably wouldn't be changing any time soon. "All right, don't spread this around... but he's sort of like my little brother. We came from the same factory at the same time, we're similar models, and we had a job at the same place before we ran off to join the Hunters." _

_ "Aw, that's almost cute, Lee." Arthur chuckled, then jumped back, dodging Lee's fist. "Okay, I get the hint. I'll try and help him out too. I don't know why he even wanted to be a Hunter, if he's so bad at fighting, but I suppose that's his business, not mine." _

_ "He's smart," Lee shrugged. "And he's got guts. Maybe somethin'll work out." He grinned. "Or are you just jealous 'cause he's got a girlfriend?" _

_ "He does?" Arthur blinked. "I didn't even know. Well, if she sees something in him, perhaps I _am_ underestimating him. It definitely isn't for his looks." He smirked. "Not that either of us ugly mugs have any room to talk about that." _

_ "Talk like that, you'll never get a girl," Lee advised him. "You gotta be confident, if you wanna go anywhere." _

_ "Oh, sure." Arthur rolled his eyes. "You're an expert. You've got women all over you." _

_ "Somethin'll work out sooner or later." Lee shrugged. "Anyways, you know either of the other two?" _

_ "Hey, you guys are going into the 6__th__ too, right?" Another voice hailed them on cue. The humanoid walking towards them was nondescript in every way; green armor, average height and build, no distinguishing facial features aside from red eyes. "The name's Joe. Guess we should probably be friends, huh?" _

_ "Sounds like a good idea to me." His companion was an actual human, but he appeared to be a great deal tougher than Joe did. Lean and mean, with a short mustache, he looked like a somebody out of an old film noir, his hair already starting to gray despite an otherwise youthful appearance. "Damon King. Keep the crap about me not being a reploid to a minimum, and we won't have any trouble about it." _

_ "Rough customer, huh?" Lee joked, grinning. "Tell you what, big guy. Show me you can back it up over in one of the training rooms, and I'll help you feed anybody else who tries that shit his own ass. Assumin' you_ can _back it up." _

_ "Why don't we go see about that, then?" Damon replied calmly. "You two coming along for the show?" _

_ "Might as well," Arthur agreed. _

_ "Wait, wasn't there one more guy in 6__th__?" Joe asked. "Sirius?" _

_ "Aw, man! Sorry, Lee!" On cue, the canid ran in, skidding to a halt in front of the board. "Knew I'd be late. Where are you stationed?" _

_ "6__th__ Unit, same as you." Lee explained, ignoring Arthur's raised eyebrow. "These three folks, too. Me an' Damon were just gonna head over and see who's gonna be the best." _

_ "Hey, if_ that's _what's going on, I want in too," Arthur protested. "Especially since you can't use your weapons, Lee. There's no way I'm passing a chance like that up." _

_ "Hey, what gives with that?" Damon asked, eyes narrowing. "No weapons? I don't like guys who throw fights, pal." _

_ "And I don't like guys who put words in my mouth," Lee responded. "I'll explain later._ If _you impress me." _

_ "Will you guys cut it out?" Sirius asked irritably. "We're gonna catch enough shit from the rest of the 6__th__ from hazing or whatever. Picking fights with each other isn't_ _helping." _

_ "Man's got a point," Joe agreed. "Relax, will you?" _

_ "You obviously don't know Lee." Arthur chuckled. "The day he relaxes is the day his mind snaps." _

_ "Just for that, Art, I'm gonna do it," Lee growled, then laughed as well. "All right, fine. Damon, right? Tell you what, I'll even buy the first round if you're the real deal." _

_ "Hope you got an advance on your paycheck then, Lee." Damon snorted, allowing a grim smile to creep across his face as well. "You'll need it." _

_ "Hey, you all in the same Unit now?" A voice called from the side, and their heads turned to see a man looking over from a passing news crew, apparently there to do a piece on the Maverick Hunters. "I know a photo op when I see one! Smile, folks!" _

_ "Do it!" Sirius urged them quietly and quickly before striking a pose and grinning. "Trust me!" The other four followed suit, although Lee put bunny ears behind Damon's head, and the camera flashed. _

When Lee's vision returned, the room was frozen around him, and the ghoul that had been haunting him was there again.

"You were a real handful when you were young, weren't you?" The robotic reaper said dryly, examining the board on which their assignments were posted. "And look at you now, fourteen years later. A changed man, or so anybody'd think. You're not really all that different at all. You just _act_ like it. But when it comes to the violent bits, you're first on the line, and you never let any of 'em get away." He turned to stare at Lee, his fixed grin somehow conveying actual mirth. "Don't get me wrong, you're good. But seeing what makes people tick... it's sort of what I do for a not-living."  
"So who are you, then?" Lee asked, ignoring that. "If you're gonna keep on buggin' me, you might as well let me know."

"Me?" The robot glanced at him, then said something that was probably a name. Whatever it was, Lee's ears only picked up a burst of static. "Didn't hear that right, did you? Here's your first lesson, Lee. The dead can't reveal the truth to the living. All I can do is help you figure out what you already know, or at least suspect. _Maybe_ slip in a cryptic hint indirectly, if you're a good boy." He thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. "What the hell, I'll give you a freebie. Give me your next question, and I'll see if I can answer without answering."

"That a fact." Lee thought about it. "Well, if who's out, then so's what, I wager. Same with how, an' if I asked why, you'd back out. You're havin' way too much fun with this to spill that just yet. When would just be silly, so..." He shrugged. "Where you from, stranger?"

"Smooth," The ghoul commented. "Make me think it's that simple, when you're really just trying to get any scrap of information that'll help you with 'who' and 'what,' so you can figure out 'why' and 'how.' Where am I from?" He produced his gimmick scythe, flipped it into the air and caught it. "I'm from where the grass is greener."

"That don't tell me much," Lee complained.

"That's kind of the idea, isn't it?" The robot winked. "Warned you. Try and fight off forgetting it, this time. If you want to make it in this business, you're gonna have to have a pretty good resistance against mindscrews. Remember what I just told you, even subconsciously, and you pass the second test."

"Can I ask what the first one was?" Lee pressed.

"Sure." The robot shrugged. "Ask all you want. A better question would have been if I could tell you. Which is actually also yes, since that's just confirming your guess. I was seeing if you were a little crazy, without being messed up enough to actually be a problem. You have to be kind of nuts to get into this line of work. I should know."

"Somehow, I get the feeling you ain't talking about the Maverick Hunters when you say that," Lee muttered, his spine freezing over.

"Me? A Maverick Hunter?" The specter threw back his head and laughed loudly. It was a disturbing, echoing sound. "_Yeaaa haa ha ha ha!_ That's a good one, pal. I was dead decades before the Hunters even existed. Hell, before _reploids_ did."

"You _are_ a robot master, then," Lee guessed again.

"What, did you think I was this short because my creator had a Napoleon complex?" The ghoul joked. "Yeah, I was a robot master once. What I am _now_ is a little more complicated." He glanced up. "I'd love to chat with you some more, but it looks like you're about to wake up, and I've got a schedule to keep anyways. Remember to remember! I'll see you again soon, Lee."

"How soon we talking here?" Lee asked one last question, even as he felt the dream start to come apart around him.

"See for yourself." The reaper stepped aside, allowing him to see the board again. The assignments had been changed, replaced with dates. The first one he saw was Damon's. _June 4, 2132._ It was the day he'd been killed in the field, mutilated by Mavericks celebrating their damned parody of a national holiday the only way they knew how.

Before he could look at any others, the dream broke apart entirely, and the light of dawn greeted him.

* * *

The old memories gave way to reality, as the shrill noise of an incoming call roused Lee form his dreams. Grumbling, he started to get up, then stopped as Morrigan put a hand on his back, apparently more awake than he was.

"Don't bother," She said sleepily. "It's for me." Without bothering to change out of her nightshirt, she went into the next room to take the call. After a few minutes, she returned, looking irritated.

"Somethin' come up?" Lee guessed.

"You could say that," she replied testily. "The 12th screwed up, on a large scale. Something about a gang of Mavericks with much heavier gear than they expected. Adrian didn't tell me the details, but he said that it was quite the bloodbath. They need me down there right away, and I'll probably be working late tonight. Possibly for several nights. I'm sorry, Lee. It looks like our research is going to have to wait."

"It's fine," he told her, hiding a flicker of disappointment. "The job comes first, right? We've both worked here long enough to figure that out."

"I suppose we have, haven't we?" she agreed, putting her armor on. "Remember to go see Sirius about Joe today. The longer you let that sit, the worse it's going to get." Once she was dressed, she started to leave, then paused. "Good luck, Lee."

"Thinks I'll need it, does she?" Lee asked himself once she was gone. "Hardly a good sign, old boy. Then again, neither's this right here. Come on, talkin' to yourself? Maybe I really am losin' it. Guess I'd better pull my lazy carcass out of bed, too." As he hauled himself up, he heard another call coming in. "Aw, now what?" Grumbling, he fell over the side of the bed, managed to regain his footing, and went to take the call.

"Lee," Sirius greeted him sternly once he'd picked it up. "You'd better get up here, right away. Commander Signas wants to see us both in his office." Without waiting for a reply, he cut the call immediately.

"And that's probably the worst sign of all," Lee muttered in the silence that followed. Warping on his own armor, he followed the orders he'd been given and headed up. Muttering an absent greeting to the pair of Hunters from the 2nd Unit standing guard outside Signas' office, he walked inside, and his blood went cold at what he saw. Joe was seated there with Sirius in front of the desk, an empty chair between them. Both of their faces were being kept carefully blank, although likely for entirely different reasons.

"Lee, from the 6th Unit," Signas greeted him, his voice containing neither respect nor condemnation. The man at the top of the Maverick Hunters was a humanoid reploid with the appearance of a recruiting poster, tall and handsome with black armor that had probably been intentionally designed to resemble a military uniform. He'd literally been built for his job by the Global Defense Council, and it showed. "It's been a long time since we last met face-to-face. I believe it was after that incident in Bombay."

"Yessir." Lee nodded, saluting. "Real bad mess, that one, but we cleaned it up all right. Good as anybody in the Hunters could, anyways, considerin'." Forcing himself to sit down between his two fellow 6th Unit members, he kept his eyes on Signas and his voice level, despite the temptation to turn on Joe. "I'm guessin' you didn't call me up here this early in the mornin' just to go over old business, though. What can I do for you, sir?"

"Lee, you're one of our best Hunters," Signas told him, tone making it clear that he was stating a fact rather than giving praise. "Despite your... public disputes... Sirius tells me that the 6th Unit needs you, and normally, I would be inclined to agree. However, your teammate Joe has reported some distressing things to me this morning."

"I'm sorry, Lee," Joe said with what _looked_ like genuine regret. "But it's not just me. I've talked to half a dozen others in the Unit about this. We've all seen you seeing things, ever since that hostage situation in Vermont. You know I wouldn't have come to Commander Signas about this if I didn't have to."

"Guess I have been havin' a bit of trouble with my eyes," Lee admitted, ignoring that. "Went an' saw Lifesaver about it right away, but he didn't find anythin' wrong, so I've been tryin' to ignore it ever since."

"Lifesaver told us of this already," Signas replied. "We asked his opinion before calling you up here. Unfortunately, that wasn't all he had for us. On my orders, he opened up your psyche file. It seems his predecessor diagnosed you with a severe case of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder following the Fourth Maverick Uprising, and chose not to bring it to Dr. Cain's attention. Apparently, he believed you were still functional despite that, and too valuable a Hunter to lose unless necessary. Unfortunately, your recent behavior alters the picture significantly. You're confined to quarters until Lifesaver pronounces you mentally stable."

"Yes sir," Lee said calmly, bowing his head. If nothing else, he'd be damned if he wasn't going to keep his dignity.

"Return to your quarters," Signas ordered him. "And you two, to your duties." It was only for that one sentence that a thin glimpse of disgust emerged from his practiced mask of neutrality. "Dismissed, all of you."

Whether Sirius shared Signas' opinion on the proceedings, or was shamed by it, Lee couldn't tell, and he didn't get the chance to find out. As soon as they'd left the office, his brother canid turned away from them both and marched off without another word to either one. For some reason, seeing his retreating back hit Lee harder than the entire office conversation had.

"You'll beat this, Lee," Joe told him encouragingly. "I know you will. You'll be back in action with the rest of the 6th in no time at all."

"And until I am, you'll make sure to keep an eye on the rest of 'em, the way I used to do, right, Joe?" Lee guessed. He was rather proud of how he managed to keep any trace of sarcasm out of the question.

"Hey, what are friends for?" Joe shrugged it off. "Besides, somebody's got to. Arthur takes about as well to responsibility as you do-sorry, _did_-to paperwork these days, and Sirius... well, he's not really ideal leader material anyways, is he? Everybody in the Unit knew who was really in charge, and all that."

"Goin' after his job next, huh?" Sirius snorted contemptuously. "Good luck, pal. You'll need it. Bein' top attack dog in the pack's one thing, but if you want actual rank, you'll have to play _his_ game. An' let me tell you, when it comes to that sort o' thing, Sirius cheats better than you ever could. But then, you never understood that, did you?"

"Come on, Lee, what are you talking about?" Joe protested innocently. "You think I'm going to try and steal my Commander's job? I didn't deserve that. Just what kind of a guy do you take me for, huh?"

"Ask Sirius," Lee told him bluntly. "Or Signas. They've got the words you're lookin' for. Not bad makin' it this far-you really had me fooled, all these years-but you ain't gonna get away with this in the end, Joe."

"There you go again, Lee." Joe sighed, still smiling. "I'm not getting away with anything." The implication, that he already _had_ gotten away with it, was left unsaid as he suddenly turned and walked away. "I _do_ have to be getting back to my job, though. Shame you can't do the same. Well, have a nice day anyways, huh? Tell Morrigan I said hi next time you see her!" Waving, he strolled off, actually whistling a little tune.

For a moment, just one moment, Lee wanted to charge after him and kill him on the spot, bring him down right there in the hall. But the reploid who would do that wasn't who and what he was any more, and so he turned away as well, beginning the long, lonely walk back to the only rooms he'd be seeing for a while.

The two Hunters on guard duty outside said nothing, and saw nothing. They weren't involved, and that was how they wanted it.

* * *

Despite his confinement, Lee's next few days were far from dull. He'd made friends in other Units, and all of them came to visit along with most of his teammates. Signas' decision was an unpopular one, even if logical; every Unit had a few skeletons in the closet, and none of them liked the thought of one of their own selling another out just to rise in the ranks. The biggest surprise was when one brute from the 13th, a knife-man named Jack who would have seemed just as unremarkable as Joe had if not for a nasty eye scar, stopped by to offer to "remove" the 6th's problem quietly. Rumor had it that Commander Bulldog had made a similar offer to Sirius, despite their long-standing mutual hatred.

The worst part, really, was Morrigan's absence. The disaster resulting in a heavy workload for her had come at the worst possible time for both of them, and it kept her busy for the rest of Sunday night, when she finally brought home the base copy of _Corbun's Encyclopedia Robotica_ for the research she'd suggested before things had turned bad.

"Not even a 'hello'?" Lee teased her, turning off the movie he'd been watching. "How about an, 'I missed you?' I barely see you all week, an' the first thing you do is bring back homework? Come on, darlin'."

"Romance can wait," Morrigan said seriously. "Right now, we need to find out what's wrong with you and how to fix it before that fool really does take your position at the top of the 6th. Annie's been telling me about what's been happening there without you, and it's not good. You were right to assume he has a lot of support in the Unit. If he gets the talented newcomers like Rip on his side..." She left it hanging.

"Darlin', don't go takin' this the wrong way, but if you were an actual Hunter, you wouldn't be worryin' nearly so much," Lee explained with a vicious smile. "What Joe did goes against everythin' Hunter psychology stands for. You were more right than you know, callin' him a fool. His cronies in the 6th are gonna be _all_ Joe's got goin' for him. He didn't actually break any of the rules an' regulations, so nobody's gonna go kickin' him out, but every one o' the other Unit Commanders hates his sorry guts now, an' a fair deal o' the rank an' file, too. Hell, even _Bulldog's_ on our side."

"I'll still feel better once we get some answers," She told him. As usual, her face was calm and cool, save for the eyes. "I know you're not crazy, but the longer we take to find the real explanation, the more everybody else will start to wonder, even if they don't like Joe's methods. And the more they wonder, the harder it will be to be to convince them. This is the only lead we have, so we have to follow it up, quickly." She sighed, the facade slipping for only a moment, the longest it ever did even for him, let alone anybody else. "I still can't believe da chief is staying neutral about this."

"I can." Now it was Lee's turn to speak firmly. "With this adoption thing happenin', here and now, Sirius _has_ to stay out of anythin' with even the slightest chance of damagin' his reputation. Figures this had to happen at the same time. If I'd gotten to talk to him before Joe went to Signas with this, he'd have been able to do somethin' about it quiet-like, but the way it turned out..." He shrugged helplessly. "If he'd tried to get involved anyways, I'd have _made_ him stay neutral. Lil' Simon King, an' everythin' he represents, for humans an' reploids both, are more important than one tired old coyote. Sirius made a hard call. It's what he does. It's why he is where he is."

"They're not more important to me," Morrigan murmured.

"That kind of stuff ain't why you an' me are us," Lee told her gently. "An' you know it as well as I do."

"I know," She admitted. "But a girl can dream, can't she?"

"Dreamin' is for girls, all right," Lee said. "An' they can say what they want about reploids bein' different on that score, but you an' me both grew up _hard_ after Sky Lagoon."

"I _know_," Morrigan repeated, more stressed this time. "I know. It's just... damn it all." She took a moment more to collect her thoughts, then nodded and opened the book, back to her professionalism. "Well, we're not getting anything accomplished like that. Start looking. We won't bother reading the entries. Just look at the pictures. Once we identify whichever one it is you're seeing, then we'll read more."

"Explain to me how these are ordered, will you?" Lee asked, flipping through several pages of entries without seeing the skull-faced phantom. "I'd figure they'd be alphabetical, but that ain't even close."

"They're separated into five sections, depending on who made them." Morrigan explained. "From there on, they're in order of creation. There were three major robotics companies; Lighttech, Sennet, and US Robotics. The last section is the independents and miscellaneous."

"Guess that makes enough sense." Lee kept going. "That's just four, though. What's the other one?"

"The Wily Numbers," Morrigan said grimly. "If it's one of _them_ that you're seeing, then we might be in even more trouble than I thought."

"Knowin' my luck, then, might as well just skip to that section." Lee did so, then froze, his eyes falling on the first entry. "You know, I really need to stop sayin' things like that." There was no cloak or scythe, but the hideous face and warped, back-heavy frame were unmistakable, even with a different paint job.

"Him?" Morrigan glanced at the page sharply. "Doc Man. DWN000. I've never even heard of this one. It says here that he was the first Robot Master Dr. Wily ever built by himself..." Her voice dropped as they both kept reading. "As well as one of the three that the renegade 'King' named as the 'Sons of Wily.' Lee..."

"I know." Lee was reading just as fast. "If there was anyone in this world who wouldn't stay dead even after dyin'... but it ain't him I'm seein'. An' this Doc Man... I ain't an expert, but nothin' he's been doin' reads much like a Wilybot to me."

"It says here that he specialized in manipulation, deceit and illusion," Morrigan pointed out. "Although it also says that, according to Mega Man, he renounced his father's ways before his death. Perhaps..." She shook her head. "But that still doesn't explain why he's haunting you. Are you sure it's him?"

"A face like that ain't exactly easy to mistake," Lee told her. Even on paper, the robot's eyes seemed to burn into his brain. "Not the sort o' one you see on every street corner."  
"I suppose not," Morrigan admitted. "Well, at least now we know where to start. We can research Doc Man now. I can tell one thing already. The information in this book doesn't add up. There was more to his presence in the Third and Fifth Robot Rebellions than they're saying in here. Wherever the answers to that are, those about your problem might be as well."

"Could be, yeah," Lee agreed. "This Doc Corbun... I've heard the name before, but I can't place it."

"He was the head of Sennet Robotics," Morrigan flipped to the biography at the back of the book. "Not as good as the Big Three, but as far as ordinary mortals go, he was pretty much at the top of the game. A friend of theirs, as well..." Her eyes narrowed. "And apparently, he vanished off the trace of the earth one day, just like Light and Wily did. On the same day that Mega Man X was awakened. Isn't _that_ interesting."

"That it is," Lee agreed. "We're gonna have to do a lot of ancient history, looks like. But tonight, I don't think we'll be gettin' much more out of this book. If this Doc Corbun knows somethin' we don't, he ain't makin' it that easy."

"I suppose not." She closed the book and stood. "I'll go return this to the library, then. Even if that last disaster is finally finished up, I might be too busy again to do so tomorrow, the way our luck has been running lately. Best to be on the safe side."

"Awwwww." Lee whined theatrically. "But..."

"Sit, boy." Morrigan smirked. "Stay. I'll be right back."

"I should probably object to that," Lee muttered to himself. "One last thing, then." It had been nagging on the edge of his consciousness for the last several days; he wasn't sure why, but he hadn't been able to put it out of his mind. "You know where the grass is greener?"

"Where..." Morrigan started to reply, then stopped. "Why do you ask?"

"Dunno." Lee shrugged. "An' I ain't tryin' to be funny. I really don't. Just been buggin' me. Don't even remember where I heard it from."

"It's an old human saying," She replied quietly. "The grass is always greener on the other side. The funeral home I used to work at when I was young made a joke out of it."

Neither of them said anything more after that, and a moment later, she left.

The rest of the night was a somber one.

* * *

This time was different. The moment Lee entered the dream, he was fully "awake" and aware of what it was, without needing the specter's presence to jolt him into it. The change was probably related to where he was. Instead of one of his own memories, he stood on a flat black plain, dark dirt underfoot stretching out in all directions. The sky overhead was a sunset without a sun, red light unmarred by cloud or star or moon. Off in the distance, straight before him, a pair of thin white lines extended up from the earth. Somebody was walking towards him from them, and Lee stood patiently, waiting for his guide.

"You've made some progress, if you can come to meet me here," The robotic reaper said as a greeting, pulling his hood back. "Good thing, too. I was starting to worry, but it looks like you might just make the cut after all. You know my name now, don't you?"

"Could be," Lee admitted. "A little crow told me it might just be Doc Man. How's that for a first guess? Beats Rumplestiltskin, don't it?"

"I'd almost take that." The ghoul rolled his eyes, then chuckled. "Yeah, right on the money. And you're Lee. Easy to remember. Well, welcome to the jungle, Lee. I'd say we've got fun and games, but I try not to lie these days. At least, not that obviously."

"Suppose you still can't tell me where we are," Lee guessed. "I know it ain't anywhere I've ever been."

"So, take a wild guess," Doc Man suggested. "The more you figure out, the better your chances of a passing grade when the time comes."  
"And when exactly would that be?" Lee asked shrewdly. "If you were startin' to worry... it ain't gonna be too long now, is it? My time's comin' up."

"Maybe." Doc Man winked. "But then again, soon means different things to different people. I only lived for a handful of years. Most reploids only get a decade or two. Humans can get up to a century, on average. And don't even get me started on the old man."  
"The old man, huh?" Lee narrowed his eyes. "And that would be?"

"Dead, truth, living, remember?" Doc Man wagged a finger. "Sorry, charlie. Only so much I can slip through the loopholes."

"All right, all right." Lee held up a hand. "I got it. I'll just look into it myself, then. See if I can figure out what happened to that Corbun guy."

"Corbun?" Doc Man blinked. "Why would you... oh. _That's_ how you figured out who I am. I wouldn't sweat it out over that too much. You're not _going_ to be able to find out, even if you follow that line of questioning. What happened to the survivors of that era is another story, and you've got plenty to finish up with your own. Don't get sidetracked, or you'll run out of time."

"I'd ask just how many of these tests of yours I was gonna have to pass, and why it was so important in the first place, but you just told me why that wasn't gonna get me anywhere, so." Lee shrugged. "Any reason I'm here, then?"

"So I can show you around." Doc Man glanced over his shoulder at the white pillars. "Don't get too worked up about the last test. If I'm right about you, then you won't even have to think about passing it. It'll come out of who and what you are, completely naturally, just because it's you. When the time comes, you'll do what you have to do, without even knowing it's what you have to do. Since we've got some time to kill, then, where do you figure we are?"

"Honestly?" Lee stared at the gates and started walking towards them. "Could be heaven, hell, or anythin' in-between. Or at least, the front door leadin' in."

"All of the above, actually." Doc Man shrugged. "Needless to say, what actually happens once you go through there's a _big_ no-talkie. But almost everybody goes through the same gate to start things off."

"Almost, huh?" Lee gave him a look. "Let me guess. Your line of work's the exception."

"Guys like me... we're sort of the definition of in-between," Doc Man agreed. "I wasn't the first to get this job, and I won't be the last. It's actually closer to volunteer work than anything else, since we don't exactly get paid. But somebody has to do it, and every so often, somebody comes along who's got the knack. Until I kicked it for good, they had to have somebody who used to be a human handling the robots. Things went smoother once I got the job."

"You've been doin' it for what, half a century now, then?" Lee did some hasty math and ended up fairly certain of the result. "Doesn't ever get old?"

"Every now and then." Doc Man shrugged. "But the nice thing about being us is those gates aren't one-way. I've got family in there that I go and visit every so often. We actually get along a lot better now than we did while we were alive, funny enough. And there's some of them who are still out here, too. They'll go through that gate in the end one day, but for now, they've still got things to keep an eye on, and I keep an eye on them."

"Ghosts, then?" Lee thought about what he'd read in the encyclopedia, about the so-called "Sons of Wily." "Not sure that's a thought I like, all things considered. No offense."  
"None taken," Doc Man said cheerfully. "You're thinking about the wrong branch of the family, anyways. For the most part, it's my uncle Tom and a couple cousins."

"Uncle... oh." Lee thought about it. "That'd be Dr. Light. Yeah, I guess that's okay... wait, what do you mean, for the most part?"

"We'll get into that later." Doc Man kept walking. "And you've probably figured out what 'later' means by now. The next time we meet... wait, no." He pulled an old-fashioned paper clipboard out from his cloak and glanced at it. "All right, the next time we get to talk like this, then, that'll be it. You'll get all the questions you want answered, then, and you won't have to 'forget' them like this, either."

"I'll be dead, then." Lee closed his eyes and chuckled. "Fair enough. That's the way it goes, in the end."

"You take that a lot more calmly than most people do when it actually happens," Doc Man told him gravely. Despite the grin on his face, his voice held no hint of a smile now. "You don't care at all about dying, do you." It wasn't a question.

"Haven't for a long time," Lee admitted. "Not sure why, but I don't. Me or Morrigan. When you get right down to it, that's why we stay together. It ain't 'cause of love, or anythin' like that. We're just broken in the head the same way."

"I've noticed that." Doc Man clapped him on the shoulder. "At least you had each other. That's more than a lot of folks get."

"Wasn't whinin', just explainin'." Lee paused. "You been keepin' a closer eye on me than I thought, huh? Don't ever recall seein' you while she was around. She deals with the dead after the fact, not durin'."

"Not _that_ close, so don't get excited." Doc chuckled. "I didn't know you looked me up in Corbun's book, did I? I know about your girlfriend, yeah. I know about _every_ reploid. It's kind of my job. But I'm no voyeur. And besides, she's not my type."

"Oh yeah?" Lee elbowed him in the ribs, smirking. "So what kind of girl _do_ you go for, then? Come on, you can tell ol' Lee."

"Later." Doc Man rolled his eyes. "Trust me, we'll have plenty of time to argue over who's buying the next round and all that shit. Right now, I want to point out as much as I can before you wake up. Saves time later on." He pointed at the gates. "Right. That's where most people go. All you have to do, most of the time, is show 'em the way. Over there to the left, that's where _we_ hang out when we're off the clock." Now that they were closer, there was a small white building visible off to the side. "It's bigger inside than it looks."

"I'd hope so," Lee muttered, frowning. The building wasn't all that he could see now. Somebody was sitting on the ground in front of the gate, unmoving. At first, Lee thought it was a statue, but as they walked up he saw that it was an old man, wearing the shredded remnants of a labcoat and slacks. He stared blankly at his hands, then slowly reached up and began tearing at his own face with the fingernails. Despite the bleeding, he showed no signs of feeling the pain. "Hey, hey! What're you doin', old timer? You'll hurt yourself!"

"He can't hear you," Doc Man said, something strange in his voice. "He's not going anywhere, either. You'll get used to seeing him around."

"Who is he?" Lee asked, then muttered a curse as he felt the familiar sensation of waking up begin to intrude upon the dream.

"He was many things," Doc Man's voice continued, even as the world fell away around him. "A hero. A genius. A father. A visionary. And he is your greatest enemy, the enemy of all life, biological or robotic. The enemy the world has forgotten, but who has not forgotten the world."

* * *

"Alert. Mavericks on base." The alarm blared through every room in MHHQ, and it brought Lee out of sleep instantly, sitting straight up, Morrigan doing the same next to him. "Alert. Mavericks on base."

"What the _hell_..." Lee started to snarl, then froze, eyes wide, as all of the pieces suddenly clicked in his brain. "Sonofa_bitch. Joe._" Vaulting out of bed, he warped his armor on and charged for the door before remembering that it was sealed. Behind him, he heard Morrigan commenting on the situation in even fouler language. "We ain't got time for this! How do I get this damn thing open? I need out there!"

"It won't open for me if you're there too." Morrigan ran over, dressed just as quickly. "We'll have to get something to force it from closing when it senses you."

"Mavericks on..." The alarm had been continuing to blare, but now it stopped. "Situation is under control."

"That was fast," Morrigan noted tightly. "It can't have been anything big, then. What do you think he did?"

"Can't have sneaked an army in here or nothin', if they dealt with it that quick," Lee muttered. "I still wanna get out there and see what's... oh, hey." The door opened suddenly as a call came in. "Well, there we go."

"Lee." It was Sirius, and he sounded even more tense than the last time. "Get up here. Signas' office again. Now. Bring Morrigan with you."

"Why-" Morrigan started to say, then stopped, going pale. "Oh. _Oh._"

"We're wastin' time!" Lee growled, refusing to even think about it. "Come on!" The two of them rushed through the base at top speed, shoving any personnel in the way aside until they reached the office, where many Hunters were gathered around, talking animatedly. None of them stopped Lee and Morrigan from going in.

"There you are," Signas said, turning his head, and they both exhaled, relieved. The leader of the Maverick Hunters was lying on his desk, bleeding from his side but clearly still alive, while Lifesaver barked at several medics. "Excellent response time, both of you." Sirius was there as well, sitting in one of the chairs with his head in his hands. A pair of dead Hunters were lying on the floor, likely the two guards stationed outside the door. Both had been efficiently killed with magpistol rounds in the head.

"Sir." Morrigan saluted. "I'll get to work on them right aw... oh." Her gaze moved behind the desk, and Lee followed it. Arthur's feet were lying there on the floor, his arms and head in a similar position on the opposite side. A good four feet separated one half of his body from the other, and his head was bashed in around the forehead, shattering the control chip. "Oh, damn."

"Mind if I ask what exactly happened here, chief?" Lee did his best to control his voice, and mostly succeeded.

"Sirius." Signas inclined his head towards the 6th's commander. "Brief him."

"Fifteen minutes ago, Joe requested a private audience with Signas," Sirius explained in a flat tone of voice. "Due to recent developments, Signas reluctantly granted that request, although he informed me as well. When he did, I realized what was likely to happen, and did. As soon as they were alone, Joe attempted to assassinate Signas. This was apparently the actual goal of everything he's been doing this entire time. Throwing you under a bus was simply a means to that end, Lee."

"It was just a little too obvious," Lee muttered, half to himself. "He was gloatin' a bit too much for someone sneaky enough to fool us all, for all these years. He wanted us to think he was just tryin' to climb the ranks, so we wouldn't figure it out until it was too late." He glanced at Arthur. "So what happened? You said you did, right?"

"Yes." Sirius nodded. "Arthur was the closest one to the office. He'd heard about this as well, and gone up to protest about what he thought was happening. Typical for him. When I raised the alarm, he and the two guards ran in. You can see what happened yourself. Joe killed both guards in a matter of seconds, but Arthur... he did a little better."

"He managed to hold the traitor off until more Hunters arrived," Signas explained further. "He was clearly outmatched, but he still managed to take an eye before... well." He coughed. "It was at that point that half a dozen Hunters arrived. The traitor saw the writing on the wall, and teleported away after crushing Arthur's head out of anger."

"It looks like he stomped his head in," Morrigan said quietly. "He wanted to finish him off, even if he'd failed his mission."

"Joe I knew never would have been that petty," Lee growled. "But then, I guess the Joe I knew never was real at all. He was a mole this whole time, wasn't he?"

"It appears that way," Sirius agreed. "Apparently, he was simply waiting for an opportune moment to attempt to assassinate Signas. Or, preceding him, Dr. Cain." He closed his eyes. "He was the only one of us to be unaffected by Sky Lagoon. I think, in retrospect, I should have thought about that more closely."

"He never turned up positive for the Maverick Virus," Lifesaver replied, turning away from Signas as the other medics began to carry him away. "Like all Hunters, he underwent routine scans ever since 'Sigma's Sixth,' and he cleared them every time. Under the circumstances, I doubt that he was deliberately repressing the Virus. It's much more likely that he was uninfected. A 'natural Maverick', one who chose this path in life of his own free will."

"Most of the time, those types aren't as bad as the infected ones," Lee said quietly. "I think this might just be an exception, though. Tell me we tracked him after he got away."

"Of course we did," Sirius snapped. "The 17th Unit sent some of their best after him." He glanced up as Mega Man X himself walked in, looking grim. "Speak of the devil. Did they get him, sir?"

"I'm afraid not," X replied somberly. "He teleported to a janitor's closet in a subway station near here, in the middle of rush hour. We're checking all the trains, but it's more likely that he changed into civilian clothes and slipped away in the crowd. With a pair of sunglasses to cover those eyes of his... well, he always was difficult to spot in a crowd."

"It's part of what made him one of our best," Sirius admitted. "And from how he was able to deal with the guards and Arthur, it looks like he was hiding his actual fighting ability all these years. If he gets away..." He left the rest of the sentence unsaid.

"He won't," Lee said quietly. "Not for long. I'm gettin' a feel for how this real Joe thinks. He's runnin' for now, but he'll be doin' something again, real soon. Now that he's played his hand, he ain't gonna stop until the end o' the line."

"If he does, we'll be ready for him," X replied firmly. "If he wanted to climb some ladders, then he's certainly succeeded. He's jumped right up to the Most Wanted list. We do _not_ take traitors lightly, and moles even less so. Lee, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to return to your quarters. Even if his accusations were only a means to an end, you've still been exhibiting troubling behavior, all the same."

"Sir!" Sirius protested, finally raising his head from his hands. "The 6th Unit is likely going to need him, very soon." He paused, realizing what he was saying. "What I meant to say is, well. I know it's more logical to send in the 17th, or the 00, when Joe reappears, but..."

"I'm aware, Sirius," X told him gently. "This feels personal. You want your boys to handle it. We'll consider it. That aside, I'm not suggesting that we keep Lee on standby. Lifesaver, take care of Lee's psychiatric evaluation tomorrow. Aside from Signas, everything else on your schedule is secondary to that now. I want him back in the field as soon as possible." He smiled faintly. "The 6th Unit has lost two of its best today. Signas was right. They'll need him."

"I'll head back, then." Lee saluted. "I appreciate bein' called up here to find out what's been goin' on, considerin'."

"It seemed appropriate," Sirius said quietly. "I'll see you soon, Lee."

"I hope so, boss," Lee replied. He turned to Morrigan, and their eyes met, but neither of them said anything. Without another word, he left the office. In the hall outside, he took a moment to kick a nearby trash canister into scrap metal before continuing back to his room.

The Hunters there watched him do it, but once again, none of them said a word.

* * *

_June 3rd, 2135 C.E._

The last day of Lee's life started pleasantly enough. For once, his sleep was untroubled, as he dreamed of a better time, before Sky Lagoon, when he'd been just another Hunter with a bunch of good buddies, all of them young and idealistic. When it faded, he didn't rise right away, simply allowing himself to relax in the bed next to Morrigan. He knew it wouldn't last, but he took every moment for everything it could give him, all the same.

When the call came, like it had the previous day, he was ready. He listened to Sirius' orders, telling him to join the Unit Commanders in the meeting hall, without surprise. When it was done, he turned to see Morrigan standing behind him, her face clearly showing that she'd heard what he said, and that she knew more than she heard. Somehow, she knew.

"It's today."

"Seems that way," Lee agreed, feeling it against all logic as well. There was no need for any more words. They both knew, and understood, in a way nobody else could, and that was enough. One embrace, one last kiss, and he turned away. He had a duty to see to, a mistake to correct, and it was time to settle things.

The meeting hall was a semicircular ampitheater, with desks and chairs for all of the Unit Commanders in the Maverick Hunters. All were in attendance by the time Lee arrived, some joined by aides from their Units, some alone. Conscious of every eye on him, he walked down the stairs to stand at Sirius' side. Neither of them said a word. Once again, neither of them had to.

"As you're all aware, yesterday a respected Hunter from the 6th Unit known simply as Joe revealed himself as a traitor in an attempt to assassinate me," Signas said without preamble from his own seat in the center of the room. "He managed to escape, and is currently at large. Half an hour ago, he revealed himself to us again." The widescreen they all faced brought up footage of an old, stately building that had been cordoned off by local police. "Baltimore. The Hall of Justice. Joe has wired the entire place to explode, and is monitoring it from an entrenched position in the basement. His hostages number in the thousands, both human and reploid."

"A hostage situation?" Zero Omega scowled. "That's not what real heavy-duty Mavericks usually go for. They generally try to hit places where they can kill everybody on site as a warm-up before trying to do some _real_ damage. What's his game?"

"An appropriate choice of words," Signas replied calmly. "A game does indeed seem to be what he has in mind. Listen for yourself."

"Attention, Maverick Hunters," Joe's voice played on the overhead speakers. It was familiar to Lee, but different at the same time; his old comrade now spoke with a frenzied undertone that was both oddly hopeless and exultant. "This is Joe, from the 6th Unit, calling. The rat I let out of here should have told you about the setup by now. Don't get _too_ worked up, 'cause I'm giving you a fighting chance to pull this one off without a single casualty. Call it a gesture of loyalty, for all those paychecks over the years."

"That sorry piece of shit, I'll..." One of the two Hunters who'd joined the 21st Unit's Commander snarled, only to be hushed by his direct superior.

"See, the thing is, I never got the chance to say goodbye to all my old friends in the 6th Unit," Joe continued. "Well, most of them, anyways. Me and Arthur had a _real_ nice chat before we both left the Hunters. But I've still got some pals I need to say farewell to. Go ahead and send the 6th on over, right through the front door, and we'll talk more. Send anybody else, either fair or foul, and we'll all go out with a bang here. Don't take too long, now, or I might start getting suspicious! Oh, and everybody make sure to have a nice day, you hear?"

"Sir, this is clearly a trap," Another Commander burst out as soon as the playback was done. "He just wants to take as many Hunters as possible with him."

"Perhaps." Signas turned towards the two Hunters from the 6th. "Sirius, Lee, you know this reploid better than anybody else here. Your opinion on the validity of this offer?"

"Sir," Sirius said after a moment. "I believe the offer is genuine. I may not have known Joe anywhere near as I thought I did, but I've learned to read his voice and actions. That's how I figured out what he was planning just in time to... to send Arthur up there." He took a deep breath before continuing. "A trap is the simplest, most obvious answer, and even when I though he was one of us, Joe was always devious and cunning. He's planning something else. I'm not sure why he's calling us there, but it's not to blow us up."

"Lee?" Mega Man X asked quietly. "Your opinion?"

"I'm with my chief," Lee agreed without an ounce of hesitation. "Joe's desperate. He's got nowhere to go. Anyone can tell that. But the thing about Joe is, he's a scrapper. Get him in a corner, and he'll go down fightin', any day, rather n' gently into the night. That ain't changed, even if everythin' else has. I hate to give him what he wants, but if that's our best shot at gettin' those people out of there, well, let's hear him out, at least."

"Done, then," Signas decided, prompting another storm of protests that died down as he stood up. "The 6th Unit is responsible for this disaster. They will be responsible for rectifying it. Sirius, take your men to the location immediately. All of them." He stared at Lee. "And don't allow the traitor to escape a second time."

"Sir." Sirius saluted sharply. "Yes, sir!" He and Lee turned on their heels and left. They continued their silence as they rejoined their Unit, where Sirius reported their instructions. Lee stayed behind him, conscious of all the eyes on him once more, and doing the same thing he had in the meeting hall. Ignoring it all, and standing in Sirius' shadow. When the briefing was done, they took off, teleporting directly outside the Hall of Justice. With Sirius leading them, flanked by Lee and Rip, the 6th Unit entered, ready to confront their fallen comrade.

"Well, well, the gang's all here," Joe spoke over the intercom in the empty lobby as they walked in. "Sirius, sir. Sorry I couldn't resign my commission directly. Rip, you're looking more like a real Hunter than ever, kiddo. Annie, looks like you're done letting other people take the glory, at least for today. And of course, my old buddy Lee. I owe you one, pal. Thanks to you going nuts, I finally got my chance. A few seconds more, and I'd even have pulled it off. Shame Arthur couldn't join us today, but that's the way it goes, huh?"

"You've said enough, Joe," Sirius replied ominously. "We came like you wanted. Get out here, and let's settle this."

"Oh, no." Joe chuckled. "That's not how we're going to play this. Here's how it goes. You choose one man, and he comes down here to the basement to see me. First one in that elevator right there is _it_, no take-backs. As long as he keeps me entertained, the rest of you are free to go look for hostages. I scattered 'em all pretty thoroughly through here, but they're still alive. Just a little busted up, in some cases. I had some frustration to work out, for some reason."

"Let me guess," Sirius said, voice flat with disgust. "If whoever it is manages to kill you, we get everybody out."

"Wrong!" Joe replied cheerfully. "When I go, so does this building. Same thing happens if I take out your champion. I'm going out with a bang today, win or lose, and you folks get to choose who's leaving with me. If he's good enough to keep me going, maybe you'll have enough time that he'll be the only one. Maybe not. Only one way to find out! You've got ten minutes to make you choice, and by the way, the match'll be going out live all over the internet. Let's not disappoint the viewers across the world, friends!"

"Sir, permission-" Rip started to offer the instant it shut off.

"_No_," Both Sirius and Lee snapped at the same time. They exchanged a quick glance, and Lee shut up.

"Denied, and that's final," Sirius continued. "The 6th is going to need you, Rip, and that goes for the rest of you young blood as well. Especially with losing Arthur, Joe and me all at once like this. Annie, anybody who tries to make a break for it, you have my permission to stop them, and it doesn't have to be gentle. Now then, once I'm down there, fan out and search the building. Don't get clear until every one of those hostages is out of here. We're not paid to be afraid of dying like dogs. It's been an honor, gentlemen."

"Hold on, there, chief." Lee walked forward. "Just whaddaya think you're doin', huh?"

"I'm going down," Sirius replied firmly. "Risking death is one thing, but if somebody here's giving up their life on a suicide job, it's going to be me. I'm the Commander. This is my responsibility, Lee. I'm going, and that's all there is to it."

"No, it ain't," Lee told him in the same tone. "Because if you try, I can kick your ass easy to stop ya, an' no one here's goin' to stop me."

"Lee, you..." Sirius took a moment to collect his thoughts, then inclined his head towards an alcove. "Over there. This will just be a moment, people." He and Lee went over into the alcove, and he continued in a whisper. "Don't be a fool. I'm not going to let you just throw your life away. It's worth too much."

"Doesn't look like it to me, at the moment," Lee replied easily. "You were the only thing keepin' 'em from just kickin' me out, weren't you? I'm a certified headcase. Joe or no Joe, I'm too big a risk, an' the 6th ain't a big enough Unit to justify it."

"Nonsense," Sirius scoffed, then smirked darkly, letting his true face show. "You know me better than that. I sold you up the river, looked the other way and did absolutely nothing. It was other Commanders who spoke up for you. Once you were cleared of those charges, even a blind man could see what would happen."

"I get it." Lee whistled. "You were plannin' to retire."

"Lee, I'm the worst excuse for a Unit Commander the Maverick Hunters have ever seen," Sirius said bluntly. "I never would have risen to my rank by anything other than a fluke, and ever since I did, it's brought disgrace to the 6th Unit. You'll lead the Unit better than I ever could. Even my enemies like you. You'll have no trouble getting cleared."

"Maybe, maybe not." Lee shook his head. "But that don't matter, 'cause you're still missin' the real point. You, me, 6th Unit, they're not what's really important. What is, is lil' Simon King. The first inter-species adoption cleared by the public. You die here, and that'll never go through. Who knows how long until it does, if ever? _That's_ your responsibility, bro. You gotta live to see that through. For all of us, everywhere. Humans _and_ reploids. Somebody's gotta break down those walls, and you put a lot o' effort into doing just that. I'm not gonna let you throw that away now."

"Lisa will still take care of it," Sirius argued, looking away. "She loves that kid. She'd fight Zero himself if he tried to stop her. The adoption will go off without me if it has to, now that I've pushed it through."

"Are you sure?" Lee pressed. "It's a delicate thing. The difference between a single parent and a married couple might be enough to throw it off. And besides, that's not the only reason." He closed his eyes. "I never wanted to throw this in your face, Sirius, not like this, but you can't pull it off. Even if you go down there, you can't take Joe, and you won't last long enough for us to get everybody out. I can, on both counts. That's what it comes down to."

"Damn you, Lee," Sirius hissed quietly. "And you don't have anything to live for? What about Morrigan?"

"Morrigan's been waitin' for me to die ever since we became us," Lee told him, and watched his eyes widen in shock. "Just like I've been waitin' for her to do the same. As soon as one of us dies, the other's free to die too. We're broken, bro, and just 'cause we hold each other together when we _are_ together ain't gonna stop the whole thing from fallin' apart in the end. It was always a matter o' time, an' it looks like that time's now."

"Lee," Sirius started to talk again, then stopped, shaking his head. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah." Lee clapped him on the back. "The 6th'll be okay. You'll still have Annie, and Rip's comin' along good. I was expectin' him to try an' bolt for the elevator, but he hasn't. Means he's learnin' to keep a lid on his instincts. He'll do just fine. An' when you want to retire, you can hand the reins to somebody who can live up to their rep." The two of them turned and walked back to the other Hunters. "I'm goin' down. It's been fun, everybody. Don't let the boss down now that I won't be around any more to keep things in line for him, huh?"

"We will," Rip promised him, trying to keep his voice steady and almost succeeding. "Good luck."

"Right back atcha." Lee looked back and forth across the ranks of the men and women he'd spent his life with, and saw no regrets in the faces looking back at them. On a whim, he saluted, and every one of them returned. "I'll see you all someday, where the grass is greener. 'Til then, you've got your orders. Move out, Hunters." It was the only time he'd ever actually given a direct command. Without waiting to see how they'd respond, he turned and entered the elevator. He didn't need to wait. He already knew.

The basement had been almost completely cleared out. Only a few walls remained standing, probably load-bearing; the rest had been totally demolished, leaving blank space empty of debris as well, save for the far end. There, piles of rubble had been piled up, making a makeshift fort. With one glance, Lee knew who was in there, and he immediately dived out of the elevator, doing a forward roll. A shot passed over his head, striking the back of the elevator. Before Joe could fire again, he scrambled behind the closest of the walls that were still standing.

"Well, if it isn't Lee," Joe's voice called out to him. The glimpse of him Lee had seen told him that the traitor had seen better days. His right eye hadn't been replaced, the wound simply sealed over with metal; it was the kind of cheap hackjob a street doctor would do. It lent his face an oddly lopsided, cycloptic cast. More troubling was what Joe was armed with; in addition to his magrifle, he held a large green shield with a viewing slot, one Lee had never seen him with before. "Ain't that a surprise. Somehow, I knew it would be you. You weren't gonna let Sirius and Rip come up here."

"You knew us all pretty well, didn't you?" Lee shouted back, not budging from behind the wall. If Joe's plan was this desperate, it meant he had nowhere to turn, and _that_ meant his supplies were sketchy. He wasn't going to waste magrifle rounds on firing blindly. "Shame we can't say the same about you. It was all a lie, Joe, wasn't it? The whole time."

"Right from day one," Joe agreed. "I was a plant from the beginning, right from November 2121. The only reason I was created at all was to try and take out the leader of the Hunters. Never got a chance at Cain, but I figured Signas would do. Now that I've failed, this is all I have left to do. Let's make it a good one, huh? You're not the kind to go out quietly, any more than I am!"

"Guess not," Lee admitted, throwing one of the smoke bombs he'd picked up from the armory out to the side. He might not have actually known Joe, but he knew the other reploid's fighting style, and he'd come prepared. As the clouds of smoke surrounded the wall, he dashed out once he was sure he wouldn't be seen, breaking for another barrier closer to the fort.

"You tricky little shit!" Joe snarled, firing once and missing. "Really stocked up, didn't you? What, did you bring an E-Tank too?"

"Gear like that's too valuable to throw away with an old dog like me," Lee replied, reaching the next wall. "This, on the other hand? Just natural smarts for dealin' with a guy like you. I know how you do things, Joe ol' buddy. We're the ones who _gave_ you that nickname of yours."

"You think so?" Joe laughed derisively. "It's not like it was the most creative one. My _creator_ gave me that nickname, Lee. You people just managed to pick the same one."

"Makes for a good sound for this fight on the 'net, though, doesn't it?" Lee asked, and for just a moment, it was like they were having a drink at the on-base bar again.

"Guess it does," Joe agreed, his own voice taking on the same whimsical tone. "One night only, 6th Unit Vs. 6th Unit! 'Sleeper' Lee against 'Sniper' Joe! It's just a damn shame that we couldn't sell tickets!"

"Is that what this is about, then?" Lee asked, throwing another smoke bomb. This time, he waited several seconds before running; as he'd expected, shots went by on both sides of the wall as soon as the smoke was covering them. "You want to prove that you were number one in 6th Unit? That a Maverick was better than any of the actual Hunters?"

"That _would_ be pretty embarrassing for the Hunters, wouldn't it?" Joe asked rhetorically, saving his bullets. "Not a bad note to go out on. But nah, I don't actually care about that. This is all about me. I'm a selfish asshole who's got nothing left to do but die. I might as well do that in high style, I figure. If that's all I have, then I'm putting everything I can into it. Never was much for halfway measures, and it's the kind of thing my creator likes."

"Who's that, then?" Lee reached another wall, but kept going past it for another that was only five feet away. This nearly cost him; as he reached the edge of the smoke cloud, he realized what he was about to do, and put on the brakes, sliding forward onto his ass. A shot whizzed over, where his head would have been if he'd kept running, and he kicked on his dash boots, executing a thoroughly clownish imitation of a slide move. Despite banging his head on the floor, he made it to the wall. "Sigma the one who put you together?"

"Sigma?" Joe laughed. "I wouldn't give that idiot the time of day. He might be big news now, but he won't stand the test of time. Another hundred years, and he'll be forgotten. No, Lee. I serve a far older and greater power, one that's slept for half a century, and now begins to stir again. I was created to test the Maverick Hunters, to see how good you were. The fact that I failed means _he_ might just respect you as worthy adversaries after all."

"Ain't that somethin'," Lee muttered, mind racing. After a few frantic thoughts on the necessity of getting this information to his superiors, he gave up. He hadn't thought ahead far enough to bring any communication devices, and if he tried to leave, Joe would just kill him, along with the rest of the building. There was only so much one Hunter could do. "You sure you want to be blabbin' about that on your broadcast?"

"You can't rattle me that easy," Joe scoffed. "It's video only. I'm better than that, and you _know_ I am, so try to be a _little_ less obvious about dicking around, huh?"

"It was worth a shot." Lee measured the distance between himself and the fort, then threw out two smokebombs, covering the stretch of floor between them. Dashing out, he didn't move directly towards his target, instead taking a longer route that curved around. The sound of bullets flying told him that he'd been smart to do so. Reaching the fort, he threw himself into the viewing slot feetfirst, grabbed the humanoid figure he saw inside, and plunged the electrically-charged claws on his right arm into it without wondering if the hostages were out yet or not. "Game over, Joe."

"Not yet, pal!" Joe's mocking voice called from behind him, as Lee realized with dismay that he'd wasted one of his charges on a decoy, a dummy with a crude paintjob. He hit the deck, but a bullet ripped through his left shoulder anyways. "Damn! That'll teach me to shoot while on the run. You're not the only one who can use those smokebombs you brought."

"You really do plan ahead, don't you?" Lee growled, lunging back out of the fort. If he stayed in there long enough for Joe to get situated again, he'd be a dead duck in a bottleneck. Another shot nailed him in the hip, and he cursed, dashing to the closest wall. Now that he looked, there were two more forts, one on each side of the room; he'd only paid attention to the first, since Joe was in there. _You're gettin' careless, old man. Looks like you're not retirin' a day too soon._

"It's my last blast, pal!" Joe replied. "Now then, let's see if you can catch me without wasting your last charge! That's if you want to, of course. Could be you'll just drag this out as long as you can and take the fall, to make sure they get everybody out alive."

"Could be," Lee agreed, then grinned suddenly, savagely. "But that ain't gonna happen. For some reason, this is takin' me back to when I was young. I'll trust the boys in the 6th to pull it off, and go with what my instincts are tellin' me to do." Another smokebomb brought him closer to the center of the room, and a shot grazing one arm told him where Joe was. _On the left. Mistake, old buddy. There's a wall right next to that one._ "I'd say you'd know what that's like, what with the virus and all, but you're not infected, are you?"

"Nope!" Joe said, still cheerful. "Hell, I'm not even a Maverick!"

"Run that one past me again." Lee waited behind the wall, just to mix it up. _Fall into a pattern, any pattern, and he's got you._ _Keep him talking, until you're close. This new Joe talks too much. _"You sure as hell look like one from where I'm standing."

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" Joe admitted. "But see, here's the thing. There's two kinds of Maverick, and they both fit a basic definition, right?"

"Are we actually arguin' _definitions?_" Lee asked incredulously. "At a time like this?"

"Pretty much." Joe, to his credit, sounded deliberately off-hand about it. "Par for the course for us 6th Unit boys, though, when you get right down to it."

"Suppose so." Lee laughed a little. "All right. A Maverick's either a reploid who's been infected by the Maverick Virus, or one who made a conscious choice of their own free will to turn against humanity. Either way, they're a reploid who kills humans." The distinction, ridiculous as it was, fell into place in his mind as soon as he'd said it.

"That's right." Joe agreed. "And I never killed a single human, now did I? More to the point, I'm not infected, but I didn't make any choice, either. My path in life was determined from long before I was built. Trying to take out Signas was the only reason I existed. I'm not a Maverick at all, Lee. I'm something even worse."

"Maybe," Lee acknowledged, moving again with another smoke bomb, reaching the wall closest to the fort. "But here's the thing, Joe. I'm kind of a right bastard myself, when you get right down to it. So you're not a Maverick. That ain't gonna stop me from bustin' your head in, just 'cause of one simple fact. You piss me off." Immediately, he swept around from the wall and jumped for the fort, arms crossed over his head. A startled shot clipped his ear, but he kept going, crashing through and landing right in front of his false friend, left arm's claws arcing out.

"So it's down to primal instinct, then," Joe said calmly, raising the massive shield he held in his left hand. By the time Lee reacted to it, it was too late. His claws sunk in, and the shield absorbed the charge, leaving Joe untouched. "You're not the only one who came prepared, Lee. I know all your tricks, too!" Bringing the magrifle around, he shot Lee point-blank in the chest. "Two strikes, and you're out."

"Shit," Lee croaked, clutching his chest as he sank to his knees, then fell to the floor. The bullet had missed his microfusion generator, but it had gone straight through him nonetheless. He was dying, slowly rather than quickly, but dying all the same. Another bullet through his left arm, and then one more for his right, made him curl up in a ball, hissing in pain.

"No chances with you, pal," Joe explained. "But I'm not going to make it easy for you, either." All the humor left his face and voice then, as he kicked Lee up against the wall of the fort, then again, and again, toe of his boot slamming into the chest wound over and over. Staring down at him out of his single red eye, he raised his foot, then crushed Lee's left wrist under it, stomping down and grinding in with his heel.

"You piece of roadkill shit, you thought you could take me?" Joe snarled bitterly. "You're nothing, Lee. A nobody. I chose the path out of the spotlight, but you? You never had a chance at anything but. All those years, I had to watch you think you were hot shit because you were the best in 6th Unit. Big fucking deal. People like you never mean anything, Lee. They never change the world. After you're gone, nobody's even going to remember your name. You, Sirius, Arthur, Damon. You're all garbage, and I wasted my life on you."

Staring up at the ceiling, choking on his own synthblood, Lee saw the gray ghost staring back at him. Silent as ever, Doc Man raised a nonexistant eyebrow, as if to ask what Lee was going to do. The answer was there, and he knew what it was. It no longer mattered. As the traitor continued to ramble, Lee stopped listening, putting all of his focus instead into his own mindset. Into instincts and thoughts he'd been repressing for six years.

Rising from the floor like a rocket, arms dangling uselessly behind him, Lee surrendered himself to the desire for bloodshed totally at last, and sank his jaw into Joe's throat in mid-sentence. The fangs he'd been designed with hadn't been meant to be used as a weapon, but they were still sharp and deadly.

"You..." Joe choked, synthblood spurting. A reploid's neck wasn't quite as vulnerable a target as a human's, but it was close enough, under the circumstances. He tried to raise the magrifle he held, shaking, but Lee jerked it out of his hands, then threw him aside with a jerk of his head. The traitor flew, limp and motionless, into the side of his fort, bouncing off the wall and sprawling on the ground like a ragdoll.

"You didn't know shit, Joe," Lee told him, his voice that of his younger self, savage and cold. "And you talk too much. Now get it over with."

An instant of unbearable pain, a brief sensation of fire and blood, and then it was done. His last sight, through the light and death, was Doc Man, swinging his no-longer-ludicrous scythe, straight at him. His last, uncontrollable thought was that, despite everything, he was going to miss Morrigan after all.

And Lee died.

* * *

When he opened his eyes, he knew he was no longer dreaming.

"About time you woke up," Doc Man commented. "Much longer, and I was going to start kicking you." The reaper of the robots was sitting next to him on the barren landscape from his last dream. It was filled with fog now, but the red of the sky and the black of the earth could still be seen through the misty haze.

"So that's it, then." Lee sat up. "I'm dead."

"That you are." Doc Man held up a clipboard. "Lee of the 6th Unit, D.O.D. June 3, 2135. Right on schedule. And here you are."

"And here I am," Lee agreed, looking around. Up ahead, he could almost see the gates. "Now what?"

"That's your call," Doc Man told him. "You've got an option that not many people get. On average, about one guy every century. I'm going to be messing with that average more than a little pretty soon, but you're the first one. I think you already know what I'm getting at here."

"You're offering me a job," Lee guessed. "Your job. Well, not literally _yours, _but you know what I'm sayin' here. You're lookin' into takin' on some help."

"Got it in one." The Robot Master nodded, then jerked his head. "Come on, let's walk and talk. I take it you're at least considering the option."

"I'm thinkin' it over real hard," Lee agreed. "Don't wanna go rushin' it."

"Good man," Doc Man said approvingly. "It's not the sort of thing you _want_ to rush. That's why I went and leaked as much as I could about it to you up before you want boom. I didn't get any of that until after I'd died for the first time. Of course, that was probably because back then, I was crazier than Sigma is."

"That's pretty crazy, all right." Lee chuckled. "But you died more than once, didn't you? Got brought back and kicked it again."

"And by the time I did, I'd made up my mind," Doc Man continued, leading Lee onward through the mists. "Don't ask me why they offered _me_ the job in the first place. Granted, it looks better to have a robot taking care of other robots, but I wouldn't have been my own first pick by a longshot." He sighed, still smiling. "Not that I'm complaining. All things considered, I got off pretty light, considering what I did while I was alive."

"You ain't too pleased about that, then?" Lee asked. "Being the son of Wily, I mean?"

"Depends on what you mean by that," Doc Man replied, looking contemplative. "The _real_ Albert Wily, the man who he was before brain damage turned him into what you're referring to... that's complicated. I still don't really know. I never knew him like that, when I was alive. But what he _did_ become? I don't think there's _anybody_ who hates that son of a bitch more than I do. And that's saying something, considering he created the Maverick Virus."

"So that's what it was," Lee murmured. "I always wondered. That makes way too damn much sense. But how? You said he died, right? Natural, him bein' human an' all. An' the Virus didn't show up until decades after he would've."

"Some people, even death can't stop." Doc Man somehow managed to scowl, despite his face being fixed in place. "Those resulting from his work are the only ones we're permitted to act against, and even then, only indirectly. We're not allowed to actually materialize back in that world, under any circumstances. But they are our enemies, as they are to anything that lives."

"The third test." Lee snapped his fingers. "It was to take out Joe, wasn't it? To do somethin' to them before I died, even if it was meaningless."

"Oh, no." Doc Man shook his head. "No, that was just bonus points. The actual test was in how you died. You embraced death, of your own will, but not out of despair or resignation. You seized death with your own hands, fighting the entire way. To take your own life is one thing. Taking your own death is another entirely. Only those who can understand the difference are fit for this line of work. On the whole, I'd say you make the cut."

"It's not the sort of thing normal people could get, sure enough," Lee agreed. "But then, I've always figured normal was overrated, anyways." He frowned, thinking. "So, I take it you brought in Joe. An' Arthur, too."

"That I did." Doc Man's grin seemed to stretch. "I had a nice long chat with the Sniper, before I hauled him through the gate. Suffice it to say, I think the next few years of his afterlife will be _very_ interesting. As for your friend... he's gone ahead, too. I asked him if he wanted to wait out here for you, but he said you'd just kick his ass for bein' melodramatic if he did."

"Yeah, I probably would, too," Lee admitted. "Leave a message, at least?"

"Sure did." The robot master nodded. When he spoke again, it was Arthur's voice he used. "'Do what you have to, then what you want to, in that order. If they're not the same damn thing anyways. Knowing you, they probably are. When you finally pick Sirius up, come hunt me down. I'll have found Damon, and with any luck, maybe even a bar. That's all I asked for out of life, and it's all I'm asking out of the afterlife, too. As for you, you know as well as I do you're going to have to deal with Morrigan _now_. It's time for you to grow up, Lee. This time for real. I'll see you again someday.'"

"That's a nifty trick," Lee complimented him, ignoring the message for the moment. "Can you do anybody?"

"Pretty much," Doc Man replied in Lee's own voice, then switched back to his own hoarse cackle. "I was designed to replicate, to reproduce. Illusions and lies were my lot in life. Maybe that's why I prefer not to, these days. Ah, here we are." The mists gave way to the edge of a cliff, curving sharply out before them to a jutting point. Beyond it, the fog was gone, leaving a sight before them that took Lee's breath away as they stood on the edge.

Below them, beyond the cliff, stretched the surface of Earth, as seen from orbit. The planet stretched from horizon to horizon, its curvature barely discernible, the entire surface seeming to glow with intense light, blue and green and brown and gray. Lee stared down at it for a long time without a word, and Doc Man let him do so in silence as well.

"It's really something, isn't it?" The robot master asked at last, voice subdued. "Call it cornball, if you like, but that right there is reason enough for me to do this job for as long as I need to. It's been sixty-five long years, and yet here I am, still going at it. And I'm going to keep at it, until I know that down there's safe from my family's curse at last."

"Why's it glowing?" Lee asked, quiet as well.

"That's all the life that you see," Doc Man explained. "Your vision is already starting to change. That's why I was getting tired of waiting for you to wake up. You were 'sleeping' for a week, while your 'body,' such as it is, got started on things like that. If you take the job, you'll be able to see other things as well. Life is a precious thing, Lee. It's something so many people take for granted. Take it from somebody who never really had much of one to himself. Life is good. And it's worth protecting, in any way we can."

"This, comin' from the guy who works in death?" Lee joked half-heartedly.

"Death isn't so bad, either." Doc Man shrugged. "It's necessary, if nothing else. And if it's done right, it brings relief. It ends the pain. Death is a part of life, just as life is a part of death. It's just one coin with two sides."

"I've seen a lot of ugly deaths, my friend." Lee shook his head. "An end to pain, though... you might have a point, there. Guess it depends on what happens when you get through those gates, really." He glanced over at Doc Man. "Why'd you really pick me up? It ain't 'cause you're gettin' lonely."

"As if." Doc Man looked back at the world. "No. I've started looking for additional hands because I'm going to need them. So far, the Maverick Uprisings haven't been as bad, on average, as most of the Robot Rebellions were, with the clear exception of the Fourth. At least, if you look at it from the statistics, the death tolls. That won't last forever." He stared out, eyes a mystery, and it suddenly became apparent to Lee just how much the robot had seen in his long life after life. "Twenty years from now, the sky will fall for real. It's going to be more of a workload than I can handle, by myself. And things are just going to go downhill from there on."

"And you want me to go through all that, huh?" Lee asked quietly.

"Why do you think we only hire people who're messed up in the head?" Doc Man smirked. "You can take it, Lee. I can tell. The only question is if you _want_ to. That one's up to you. I've put the offer on the table. I'm not going to force your hand."

"You said you'll be recruitin' other folks, too," Lee remembered absently. Now it was his turn to stare down at the world as he spoke.

"That I did," Doc Man agreed, keeping his voice neutral as well. "As long as they fit the requirements."

"Then I got some business to attend to, back down there." Lee squared his shoulders. "And I'd better see to it before they start telling me all the things I'm not allowed to do."

"I really shouldn't let you do that," Doc Man commented idly, but made no moves to actually stop him. "Leave something behind, did you?"

"You could say that."

* * *

The mission had been a nearly complete success. The 6th Unit had succeeded with flying colors, managing to extract every single one of the hostages without a single casualty, thanks to the direction of Commander Sirius. The only death among their own numbers had gone willingly to it, "Sleeper" Lee, a veteran of fourteen years. Nothing had remained of Lee to bury, and he'd stated on numerous occasions his preference that no formal funeral would be given. Nevertheless, Commander Sirius' press announcement on the affair had been unusually humble, making it clear that the fallen Hunter was a hero, without whom the Unit would never be the same.

Such words were little comfort to the member of the MHHQ's staff known as Morrigan, who had worked in the funeral department for six years. Her close friends in those years had been aware of her issues stemming from the Fourth Maverick Uprising, but they'd chosen to overlook them, just as those of her partner had. That had all changed following his death. After completing her work for that day, Morrigan had tidied up, returned to her quarters, and promptly undergone a nervous breakdown, one that had continued for a week beyond that.

"How's she doing, doc?" Annie, a tall, wide-shouldered female humanoid from the 6th asked Lifesaver as he left the quarters. She and Lisa, Sirius' wife, had been waiting outside on a bench to hear the news.

"She appears, visibly at least, to be improving." Lifesaver said quietly. "She can hold a coherent conversation now, and she seems to have accepted Lee's death."

"Visibly isn't the same as actually," Lisa pointed out. A persian feline-type, her placid appearance hid a mind as sharp as her husband's. "There's a reason for this 'improvement' you don't like, I'm guessing."

"I'm afraid that's a matter of doctor-patient confidentiality." Lifesaver shook his head, then sighed. "Of course, I'm sure she'll tell you both about it as well, if you ask. Feel free to do so. I'm off to give Commander Signas my report."

"Not a good sign," Annie muttered, watching him walk away. "Damn that Lee. We never hit it off, but I didn't think he'd actually die on her like this."

"If he hadn't, he'd have been in just as bad shape when she left him first," Lisa told her quietly. "Those two were together for reasons that were never textbook romance."

"I know." Annie brushed a lock of curly red hair out of her eyes. "But I didn't really _like_ him, so I could have lived with that."

"Let's go." Lisa rolled her eyes, opening the door. Morrigan was sitting in an armchair, staring blankly at what seemed to be german opera. "Well, that's a good sign. At least she's turned it on this time."

"I heard that, Lisa," Morrigan said without looking up.  
"That's a good sign, too!" Annie told her cheerfully, without a hint of self-consciousness. "You're looking better, Morrigan!"

"Because I'm not incoherent and muttering, you mean?" She turned her head and gave them a jaded smile. "I suppose almost anything would be better than that."

"Guess it would, wouldn't it?" The larger woman agreed. "But hey, it's nothing to complain about. You'll be back to your old job in no time!"

"Do you think so?" Morrigan looked away again. "Lifesaver didn't seem to."

"He implied that to us as well," Lisa agreed calmly. "Did you want to tell us about that?"

"Perhaps," Morrigan replied, still looking away. "That depends on if you want a nice answer, or the real one."

"You kidding, Irish?" Annie told her, still managing to keep her voice cheerful. It was an old joke between them, since while they both came from the same country, she was more identifiable as such than Morrigan had ever been. "We've been your friends for how long, again? You can tell us. We can take it."

"Annie's correct," Lisa agreed. "We won't judge you, Morrigan. It's all right."

"If you say so." Morrigan looked back at them, eyes still filled with an indescribable pain. "I've started seeing Lee in my dreams."

They exchanged a glance, but neither of them said anything for a few moments.

"That's only natural, I guess," Annie said after the silence had become uncomfortable. "Makes sense to me, at least."

"Does it really?" Morrigan asked, sounding like she wasn't actually expecting an answer. "You're both taking it better than I thought you would, at least. I wonder if it'll happen again. It was actually just the one time, so far. Last night."

"And?" Lisa prompted. "Did he say anything to you, when he did?"

"I think so." Morrigan frowned. "That's what's strange about it. I feel like we had a long conversation of some kind, but all the actual details of it are missing from my mind. Like somebody recorded static over them. All except the very end."

"What happened then?" She asked softly.

"He told me he'd see me soon." She smiled again, still jaded but oddly soft nonetheless. "Where the grass was greener."


	9. Relics of Madness

_**MEGA MAN X: FROM THE SIDELINES**_

A Collaborative Collection

**Relics of Madness**

By Eric "Erico" Lawson

* * *

_Great Basin Desert_

_Nevada, United States_

_June 26__th__, 2138 C.E._

_5:28 P.M._

The usual assumption about deserts was that they were always unseasonably hot. That assumption was always wrong. After all, Antarctica had deserts. The Andes Mountains had desert steppes. The Gobi Desert and parts of the Siberian north were windy, frozen wastelands.

Here, though, they got the best of both worlds. A human in his late fifties shivered against and tightened his windbreaker as another gust of wind rolled unchecked over the rugged wilderness. His silvery hair had been thinning out a great deal for the better part of a decade, but constant travel and exercise kept him fit…for a human vagabond.

"Why, oh why did I ever come out here?" He asked himself.

Heavy, metallic footsteps came up from behind him, and the older middle-aged man glanced over his shoulder in time to see a thin, genial reploid with silver armor and highlights trudging up the slight slope after him.

"Tex, if you're asking yourself that question, we may as well call this trip a bust." The reploid chuckled.

"Aww, cork it, Hands." The human muttered in reply. His full name was Hank Johnson, but he went by the nickname that marked his origin; "Tex." Tex's partner Timothy, or "Jazzhands", had been traveling with him for nearly two full decades. They whined, they complained, they belittled.

The son of a former oil tycoon and the retired saloon pianist still remained the best of friends.

Tex shivered and looked up at the sky. "I'm almost freezing my ass off out here. You don't got to worry about keeping your temperature up like I do!"

Jazzhands rolled his eyes. "Gee, no. But who ends up carrying most of our gear when we're on foot? You? Don't think so, old man." He slapped Tex in the shoulder and motioned back. "Come on. Let's get back to the hovercar and make some tracks. There's supposed to be a town nearby, not more than half an hour's drive."

"Bah, I checked the map." Tex grumbled, shuffling after his partner. "Little Podunk town of Brushwood. Doesn't even have a proper Electrosphere uplink tower."

"Well, I suppose we could always head to Las Vegas…" Jazzhands singsonged.

The offhand remark earned a cry of disgust from the human, who quickly brushed off the suggestion. "You crazy? That place is still tainted with chemical and biological agents! It's a freaking Hazmat zone, for Chrissakes! If the environment didn't kill me, the Mavericks would!"

"Presumed Mavericks." Jazzhands sighed. "So the place is a deathtrap. Doesn't mean that you can believe all the ghost stories about it."

"Gee, let me think. A still functioning power grid, an environment no human can go to, out in the middle of nowhere, rarely patrolled by Maverick Hunters?" The two reached the bottom of the small hill, and Tex hopped into the driver's seat of their hovercar. He blew a raspberry at Jazzhands when the silver reploid eased into the shotgun position. "Oh, **sure** there's not Mavericks there. I'll take the Gal-darned Podunk village any day, Hands."

He turned the key in the ignition, and the engine turned over after a few false starts. A flip of the switch activated the maglev actuators, and the car lifted up off of the ground, buoyant as it repelled the earth's natural magnetic field.

A rumble that didn't hail from the engine drew Tex's eyes skyward, to the strange and dark stormfront that the chill winds were pushing in. Arcs of lightning danced wildly along the leading edge of the black maelstrom.

Tex made a face. "How far did you say this Brushwood town was?"

"About thirty-two kilometers." Jazzhands said, taking off his helmet.

Tex threw the hovercar into gear and put his foot to the gas.

"We might not make it there in time."

* * *

Tex's defeatist statement turned out to be an oracular prediction; they had only cleared a few more miles before the storm overwhelmed them. There was little precipitation, but the roaring thunderclouds were unleashing powerful bolts of lightning not only across the sky, but downwards as well. Strike after blinding strike seemed to smash into the ground in all directions around them and across the ridges that jutted up in the middle of the wasteland.

"Christ on a shingle!" Tex swore, jerking the wheel hard right as a bolt exploded one hundred yards ahead and slightly to the left of them. Shards of glass and a spray of soil blasted out of the impact crater. "What in Sam Hill's going on around here?"

"Lightning storm!" Jazzhands cried out, yelling so he could be heard over the roar of the wind. "Lots of power, no rain! The dry air isn't helping it!"

"Oh, well ain't that just peachy!" Tex swerved around a jutting rock outcropping, lining them up beside a tall running ridge of stone. "You just _had_ to pick this route, didn't you?"

"Hey, don't go blaming me, you sorry sack of flab!" Jazzhands snapped back at him, bumping his head against the hovercar's roof as they soared off of a sloped piece of rock large enough to get the maglev sensor's attention. "It wasn't my idea to go treasure hunting out here in the wasteland, it was all yours! Did it ever occur to you that there's a reason this neck of the woods is so desolate, huh?"

Before Tex could counter with a comeback, a particularly brutal blast of lightning smashed into the top of the ridge to their right, scouring jagged clouds of atomized sandstone into the air. The deep rock underneath seemed to give way, and a tremendous explosion buffeted the hovercar, nearly flipping it over. An entire wall of the clifflike ridge above them gave way and plummeted towards the ground, suddenly cutting off their escape route.

"Jesus H Tapdancing Christ!" Tex screamed, turning the wheel around hard and slamming his foot on the retrobrakes. The hovercar's rear end swerved out to the side as momentum fought the deceleration, and Tex could only watch in horror as the slab of sandstone that had crashed to the ground only moments before grew larger and larger in his side window...

The impact happened while the vehicle was still traveling at forty kilometers per hour, a breakneck speed even at forward impact. The side airbags went off, and everything turned to noise.

Grunting, Jazzhands peeled his arm out of the cushioned cocoon that had trapped it. He clenched his face up in pain; the impact had caused several system warnings, though none of them were critical. A good twenty minutes of repair would set him back to rights.

"Ohhh." He pressed a hand up to his head, grateful when he pulled it back and found no purple liquid sticking to his palm. No bleeding, at least. "Hey, Tex. Tex, you all right, buddy?"

He got a barely audible groan in response. Jazzhands craned his sore neck around and caught sight of his human counterpart. Unlike him, Tex was bleeding from the side of his head. He'd taken the worst of the impact.

"Ahh, crap." Jazzhands hissed. "Concussion? Tex, say something." He reached for his friend's belt buckle and undid the harness. "Tex!"

"Izza fooza?" The human treasure hunter said muzzily. "Heevum mooluh." Then he let out a wheezing laugh, punctuated by a comically slow wince. "Ohhh, ow."

"Yeah, ow's right." Jazzhands muttered, pulling his friend away from the dented in side of the hovercar. "Good grief. You definitely got your lump for this trip, buddy. You just gotta stay awake, you hear me? You gotta stay awake!"

"Buzzuh, mmmm suh trrrrrduhduh." Tex slurred.

"Oh, lord." Jazzhands rolled his eyes. "I forgot, you're a dumb drunk. Come on, we've gotta get out of this car." The impact had sprayed window glass shards across the cabin's interior, leaving them exposed to the elements…and to the power of the storm. Jazzhands could get more banged up than his partner, but the lightning could roast him just as cleanly.

Wild-eyed, Jazzhands looked around their immediate surroundings for any sign of cover. There, at the base of the ridge a hundred yards out…a cave opening? Or just a trick of the light, a shadow?

A bolt of lightning smashed into the ground not more than ten yards from their crashed hovercar. That made up his mind very quickly.

"Time to move, Tex." Jazzhands growled. He ripped the deployed airbags out of his way and opened his door, then dragged Tex across the seat and out behind him.

Keeping the heavy, but manageable human in his arms, Jazzhands ran across the ground towards the presumed haven. Luck spared the two, as two more lightning blasts ignored them entirely, and smashed into the top of the ridge. Strangely, no more rocks fell down towards them.

Jazzhands finally reached his destination, and laughed in relief as it turned out to be a cave after all. A relatively small one, about the size of two bedrooms, but deep enough to hunker down in and escape the elements.

He set Tex down against the wall of the cave and slumped down himself afterwards. The human groaned again, and his eyes tracked in on the silver reploid.

"Heeeeeyyyyy…whu…whu happened?" Tex asked, slowly regaining cognizance.

Jazzhands pulled his helmet off and set it between his legs. The reploid closed his eyes and exhaled.

"You wrecked the damn car. Just…keep talking, but don't move much. You got knocked around some back there."

"And you saved me, huh?" Tex thought about that for a moment. "I guess I owe yuh now."

Jazzhands had to laugh at the inane quality of their conversation. They'd scraped out of certain death by inches, they were hiding out from a storm that was scouring the desert, and Tex was worried about debts.

"You saved me once too, remember?" Jazzhands finally shook his head. "We're not keeping score these days."

"Aah, fine." Tex slowly lolled his head to the side and looked out to the storm raging beyond the mouth of their cave retreat. "Saves me buying you a bottle of whiskey."

"Buy one for yourself and split it with me, you cheapskate. S'what you usually do anyway." Jazzhands snarked.

Tex let several seconds of silence go by before he spoke again.

"I'm glad ye'r here, Hands."

Jazzhands reached over and patted his friend on the knee. "Glad to be here, Hank."

The storm did the rest of the talking for them.

* * *

_June 27__th__, 2138 C.E._

_6:48 A.M._

Tex woke up with the smell of cheap coffee smacking him in the face. When he opened his eyes, Jazzhands was walking into the cave with the two tin travel cups from their hovercar. Steam wafted from their rims.

"Hoo. Just what the doc ordered." Tex stretched his arms and legs out. They were sore, but a night of sleeping upright tended to do that. He reached for the offered java. "Sounds like the storm's done with."

Jazzhands grinned, helping Tex up to his feet. "Oh yeah. Blew through, scorched the countryside. Made a real mess."

Tex took a tentative sip, then downed the whole thing and sighed. He handed the empty cup back and turned to face the wall of the cave. "So, how bad's the car?"

"Ah, that's the problem, partner." The silver reploid admitted. "Damn thing's partially wedged into the rock slab that fell off the ridge. I couldn't pull it loose."

"Shoot." Tex grumbled. Jazzhands quickly averted his eyes when he heard the sound of Tex's fly unzipping. The tinkling sound of water on rocks followed quickly after. "So much for makin' it to Brushwood on time. Got any good news?"

"Nothing in the car was too banged up. All our gear's still intact, which is good news, considering."

"Yeah?" Tex finished up and gave it a quick shake before zipping his pants shut. "Considerin' what, Hands?"

"Well, I went snooping around some while you were still sleeping, and that storm did more than give the ridge a facelift." Jazzhands disappeared out the mouth of the cave and came back with Tex's backpack. "Come on out, I'll show you."

The sun was just beginning to come up, and the air had a chill present that would be banished by mid-morning. Tex looked around for a while before he followed the direction of Jazzhand's pointed finger; the top of the ridge had been blasted away, like someone had taken a fiery sledgehammer to it. The break pattern didn't make sense to him at first, until…

Tex blinked, then whistled. "Son of a gun. Did something _inside_ that ridge blow up?"

"That was my question too." Jazzhands moved his hand to the base of the ridge, where in the early daylight, a second opening into the ridge was visible. Unlike the cave they'd hid in during the storm, though, this one was a gaping hole, as if someone had gouged a cookie cutter into the mountainside. "That's new, by the way. The edges of that hole were still warm when I checked it an hour ago. The tunnel's manmade. It was covered up by a hidden door in the ridge, Tex. The storm blew it open."

The reploid could see the dollar signs flashing in Tex's eyes.

"You mean to tell me we stumbled across…" Tex started. He stumbled ahead a bit, then turned back around, pacing excitedly. "Hot dog! I told you, Hands! I told you there was stuff to find out here in these parts! We might've stumbled across a genuine bomb shelter here! Maybe even an old military one!" He looked at Jazzhands expectantly. "Did you go inside?"

The reploid smiled and folded his arms. "Now why in the Hell would I do that, old man? This was your idea, coming out here. I figured we'd best explore this place together.."

"Well, damn right." Tex hoisted his backpack up and cinched it a little tighter, and marched on to the exposed entrance. "I told you, I got a nose for these kinds of places."

"I thought you had a nose for trouble."

"That too." Tex pulled a flashlight out of a side pouch on his bag and paused at the exposed edge of the entrance. He ran a hand around the interior edge and grunted. "Huh. You said the lightning blew the door?"

"Yeah, it had to." Jazzhands nodded, slowing the motion to frown. "Are you saying I'm lying?"

"Nah, not saying that. Wrong, maybe." Tex shone the flashlight around the revealed portal and squinted. The edges of the tunnel were clean, and he could see where the hinges had been. What was left of them was twisted and warped, as if a powerful force had pulled and ripped at them. "It doesn't look like a blast'uh lightning knocked the door off. I'm not seeing a whole lot of chippin' round the outer edge, or scarring."

"So what are you saying?" Jazzhands demanded.

Tex pulled his flashlight back and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Looks like somebody blew this door from the inside."

Jazzhands blinked several times and settled on a derisive snort. "Tex, you must have hit your head a lot harder than I thought. You're talking nonsense." He pushed past the human and wandered into the tunnel, lifting up his own flashlight. "Come on. Let's get to work."

Tex looked at the warped hinges for a few moments more, then followed after his partner. "Could have sworn…"

* * *

The entrance tunnel had led to a network of passages strewn throughout the rock. Power lines ran above them, attached to the ceiling by bolts screwed into the stone. Every so often, a light panel tied to the grid would flicker briefly before fizzing out again.

"I can't believe this place still has power." Jazzhands whispered.

Tex's flashlight beam illuminated the reploid's torso briefly. "Had." The adventurer corrected his friend. "From how these lights're flashing, I'd say the power in here is on its last legs." He coughed loudly, putting a hand to his mouth. "Ugh, the air in here is stale as all get up."

"Really?" Jazzhands mused. "I hadn't noticed. Put your breathing mask on, then."

Following the advice, Tex pulled out a rebreather from his pack and slipped it on. The filtration pack of the mask cut down on the carbon dioxide levels and dangerous aerial agents, letting him breathe a comfortable mixture of oxygen, nitrogen, and helium. Jazzhands gave him an amused smile. "Better?"

"Ah, cork it, Hands. Get out that scanner for a second, would you?" They reached a half-opened hydraulic door that seemed stuck in its sliding rut. Tex fingered the door, sizing it up. "Hm. It's got some mass to it. What's the scanner say?"

Jazzhands lifted the probe of his scanner to the frozen door and ran it across the surface. It beeped at him after a few moments. "Well, this is…huh. Titanium alloy, and the window is reinforced plasteel."

The titanium wasn't a surprise to Tex: The metal was more resistant to corrosive influences than iron or steel, after all. The plasteel window, though, was.

"Huh. So much for this place being a bomb shelter from a century ago." Tex grumbled. "They didn't invent plasteel until after World War III."

"The Wars of 2040, you mean."

"Hey, bub, you call it what you want, I'll call it how I want it."

"Grumpy old bastard." Jazzhands muttered, stepping on ahead. "All right, so this is from 2050 or onwards. Maybe this is a shelter they built before the Wars of 2090. We won't know anything for sure until we find something more substantial than tunnels and power lines."

They turned a circular corner when Jazzhands stumbled across a piece of debris. The reploid swore as he bounced to recover his balance, and their flashlights turned on the spinning metallic object as it rolled along for a bit and came to a halt like a quarter on the table.

Neither man moved for a few seconds afterwards. Time had aged the metal, darkening the once bright yellow paint scheme…but there was no mistaking the ubiquitous helmet and green plus sign. No robot had been more widely produced, after all…

Than the Metool.

"Sweet Jesus." Tex breathed. "Dip me in barbecue sauce. A Metool, in here?"

Jazzhands knelt down beside the mechanoid and poked at it. "Deactivated…forcefully." He lifted the edge of the helmet up so Tex could see the guts of the robot underneath its protective dome. "See this?" On closer inspection, Tex could make out that the core of the robot was crushed, like someone had reached underneath it and squeezed with pneumatic force.

Tex leaned up against the wall of the tunnel for a moment. "Yeah, we're still after World War III. This might be newer than we think yet, though."

"If that was the case, then this Metool would look different." Jazzhands reminded him. "You should know that."

"Yeah, yeah. After LightTech went under in 2088, the other companies started using newer designs, stopped using almost all the old models." Tex scratched at his head. "By 2090 when the War happened, LightTech robots became vintage. Now, they're antiques."

"I think this place had to be built before that." Jazzhands explained. "Nobody in their right mind would have used old-style Metools afterwards. They didn't even have Electrosphere uplinks."

"Hmph." Tex kept going forward, doing his best to ignore the flickering ceiling lights. "I reckon so."

"Got any guesses so far, then?"

"Maybe this is some old government installation, then." Tex shrugged. "Course, I thought they kept better track of these bunkers than that."

Their voices began to gain a more appreciable echo as they stepped into another room. The dust was more noticeable than it had been in the tunnel.

There was a sagging pockmark in the ceiling, a warped mass of metal and sandstone directly above a menacing looking power generator that made a feeble grinding sound every few seconds. The generator's top and side was crushed in by two tons of debris from the hole. It flickered with green light in time with the jolts of electricity along the power conduits from it.

Jazzhands extinguished his flashlight. "Well, that explains the sporadic power loss around here. That's an old power distribution generator." He walked over and sized it up, nodding with a grunt. "Looks like it's a Fortensen GTP Model 5." He looked back to Tex, who had a blank look on his face, and rolled his eyes. "Geothermal Power. Gets energy from the heat in the earth's crust."

"Ohhh." Tex finally nodded. "Right."

Jazzhands rolled his eyes. "Right, he says." The reploid got back up and made a sweep of the room. "This looks like the power center of this place." He motioned to a flickering console on the side of the room they'd come from. "See if you can get that thing up and running, Tex. Maybe we can get some answers."

"Oh, sure. Because you galdarned reploids never learned how to type in command prompts." Tex snorted derisively. "Always got some damn talking computer to do it for you."

The monitor held a steady, slightly discolored image: The screen had taken a blow. To Tex's eyes, it seemed to be the power control panel for the entire complex.

**Error. Critical instability in power grid. Transformer nodes 3, 5, and 8 damaged beyond auto-repair. Generator offline. Remaining power rerouted to habitat section.**

"Huh!" Tex scratched the top of his head, then pulled his mask partially off so Jazzhands could hear him clearly. "Looks like this place sent all the juice it had left to a 'habitat section.' Whatever that is."

Jazzhands walked over to him, a second destroyed Metool under one arm. "Can you bring up a map, find it?"

Tex tried, but the screen was locked on its last image. He grunted angrily and slapped the top of the monitor. "No luck. Damn thing's frozen up." He hefted his backpack up and kept on walking. "Well, we won't find it standing around here. What're you doin' with that Metool, anyways?"

"This one's destroyed too." Jazzhands said.

"I coulda told you that much."

"It was destroyed by plasma weapons fire." Jazzhands added quickly, raising it up so Tex could see the scorch marks.

Tex felt a sense of unease start to build in him. "What from?"

Jazzhands shrugged. "Couldn't tell you."

"Is it recent?"

"Could be."

Tex clenched his teeth and took a deep breath. "So…there might be something in here shooting off one of those galdarned popguns. You got yours?"

"Uh, Tex, you do know all I've got is a U.S.R. Model 7, right?" Jazzhands asked back. He set the Metool aside and began to convert his arm into the aforementioned weapon. As it had been a long time since he'd last used it, the conversion took one and a half seconds. Had it been properly tuned, the shift would have happened in the blink of an eye. The plasma buster was nothing special to look at, just an egg-shaped bulb on the end of his arm. And a small one, at that. "I can't even charge war shots. All I've got is stun pellets."

"Well, you've got a better weapon than I do."

"Oh, your breath. Right. Chemical warfare doesn't always help anymore."

"Were you activated with that asinine snark or did you pick it up after meeting me?" Tex rolled his eyes. "Come on. You've got the lead."

They moved out of the power room and down a new tunnel. To their alarm, they walked past even more Metools with similar damage; plasma scouring along the rims of their helmets and crushed undersections.

"Tex, I don't like this." Jazzhands said quietly. He kept his small buster pointed ahead, but found nothing to shoot at. "This entire bunker doesn't make sense. The air's nearly unbreathable, we've got all these destroyed robots lying around. And have you seen any signs of a ventilation system yet?"

Tex had to shake his head no. "So what're you saying, Hands?"

Jazzhands looked over his shoulder. "Maybe this place wasn't made as a bomb shelter for humans."

Tex blinked twice before busting out laughing. "Oh, get serious! Who in their right mind would build a place just for ro…"

The human's voice cut off in a strangled shudder as they stepped into the next room. It took Jazzhands a moment to realize that his friend was looking at something very terrifying.

Jazzhands slowly turned his head back around, keeping his buster raised up and his mental finger on the trigger.

This chamber still crackled with life. Wires sparked from destroyed panels, and upright plasteel tubes were cracked and shattered. Even more deactivated Metools lay scattered about, but it was a different kind of robot that had shocked Tex into silence.

There on the floor, ripped apart and half-melted to slag by some incredible heat were two cyan blue humanoid robots, standing four and a half feet tall. A third was even taller, dark purple with one batlike wing slumped underneath it.

"Jesus." Jazzhands breathed. "Jesus God. Are those…"

Tex shuddered again. "Robot Masters." He pointed to the first two, mirror images of each other with diamondlike edges. "That's…Gemini Man, it has to be. He was in the Third Robot Rebellion." The old man's finger shakily pointed to the taller one, and Jazzhands finally noticed the mechanoid's fangs. "Shade Man. He was in the Seventh."

"Both destroyed." Jazzhands knelt down beside the corpse of Shade Man. "But what are they doing here?" He looked up towards the ceiling, which had a massive hole. Most of the upper works of the room was destroyed, and sunlight from outside filtered in unhindered. "Good grief. That explosion from last night…it must have been here."

"Oh, God." Tex swallowed. The human looked ready to run for the exit. "Hands, I…I know what this place is."

Jazzhands walked back to his partner's side. "What is it, then? What are _robot masters_ doing here?"

Tex pointed his flashlight to a darkened corner of the room that the sunlight hadn't hit. The beam illuminated an emblem on the wall that was unmistakable.

A giant, jagged W in red within a black circle. 50 years had gone by since that logo had last been used or even mentioned…

But for humanity, the emblem of Doctor Wily, the mad scientist responsible for the Robot Rebellions, was as unmistakable as the Nazi swastika.

"Oh God." Jazzhands breathed. Wild-eyed, he looked around the room again. It had to be the habitat section that Tex had mentioned. Gemini Man and Shade Man both showed the same crushing and plasma damage that the Metools had. The capsules that had likely kept them asleep were all destroyed. "Jesus, no."

Tex took on an eerie, detached tone, as if that could distance him from the horrors of the room. "One of the things that always surprised people about Wily was that he had one secret Skull Fortress after another. He had one in Death Valley, not too far from here. But he had more than those. Some people believed he set up smaller facilities; storage caches, where he could keep supplies and reinforcements if he ever needed them. Nobody ever found one, though." Tex swallowed. "Looks like we just did."

"Let's get the Hell out of here, then." Jazzhands stammered. "You don't go walking into Hell without getting burned, Tex. This is about as close as you can get. And remember those Metools? Now these two? There's got to be another one of them in here, or close by."

"For a change, I agree with you." Tex said. "We're treasure hunters…but some things are better left buried."

They started to turn when the destroyed panels in the room stopped sparking. A computerized voice cut into the silence.

_**"Total power loss imminent. Deactivating final stasis pod. Warning: Programming in robot 24WC-S incomplete. Power surge has affected core memory protocols."**_

Jazzhands looked at Tex. "Tell me you heard that."

"Wish I hadn't." Tex answered. The two stared at each other for a while longer.

"You want to see it, don't you?" Jazzhands asked.

"Guess I am that predictable."

"Rock-paper-scissors. I win, we run for the door." The two quickly tossed out their throws; Jazzhands used scissors, Tex went with rock. The reploid swore. "Guess we're staying then. But it so much as twitches wrong, I'm slagging it. I can't take on a Maverick, but an old robot?"

Tex ignored the boast and meandered around the broken stasis pods on the far side of the room. Jazzhands followed after him, Buster raised and ready to fire. The reploid counted the pods as they went; three broken ones, and…

One still occupied. The power conduits running into it were a mess of melted wires, and the smell of fried rubber, that tingy ozone smell, stuck to every surface.

The door on the plasteel tube slid open quietly, and the two explorers got their first look at the robot inside.

It had a green and white color scheme, and stood four and a half feet tall; the size of a human child, with infinitely more strength, if the legends about robot masters were true. The thing that stood out most was its cowling. A green snake's jaws covered its head, and a long whiplike tail trailed behind its back. The robot's left arm was morphed into a green buster-styled weapon, and its right ended with a more traditional white gloved hand.

_**"Stasis deactivated. Beginning primary activation."**_

The robot master didn't move from its standing sleep, and Jazzhands chanced a quick look over to Tex. "You know this one?"

"…Think I do, yeah." Tex muttered. "This one looks like a copy of Snake Man. He was in the Third as well."

The robot master's right arm twitched, and Jazzhands quickly brought his weapon around again. "Easy, you sorry son of a…"

The robot's closed eyes tightened up for a moment, and he tilted his cowling to the left.

Finally, his eyes opened. Green eyes, like the rest of him.

Snake Man looked at the older human and the…robot?...staring back at him.

He blinked. They blinked. He tilted his head to the side, they blinked again.

Snake Man parted his lips, and spoke his first words…

"Who are you?"

The question seemed so out of place from a thing that the two explorers had thought was nothing but a killing machine that Tex's eyes went up in surprise.

"Uhh…Well. Huh. I'm Hank. Hank Johnson, they call me Tex. This is my partner, Timothy…Jazzhands. Hands for short."

Snake Man slowly nodded, absorbing the information. "Who am I?"

"Who're **you**?" Jazzhands repeated incredulously. "What, you mean you don't know?"

Keeping the same blank look on his face, the robot master shook his head. "I do not. My…" His eyes pointed skyward for a moment as he carried out some deep thought process, then reverted back. A frown crossed his lips, mimicking Tex's expression. "My basic programming is…blank. I do not know…who I am. Who am I?"

Tex and Jazzhands looked at each other, and the reploid spoke up first. "Before we answer that, tell us the Laws of Robotics."

"The what?" Snake Man repeated, still confused. "I have no such record in my positronic memory. Several memory sectors show that they were overloaded and reformatted to prevent entropic failure."

One of Tex's eyebrows went up higher than the other. "You telling me that you don't got no recollection about anything at all?"

Snake Man slowly stepped out of his capsule, tentatively touching the floor with his boots. The robot looked at the two and narrowed his eyes. "I believe I've established this."

"It's possible, I mean…" Jazzhands muttered, scrambling for an answer. "…There was a whole mess of power in that electrical storm. It struck this room first. A power overload could've fried his brain, taken out everything."

"So what you're telling me is, you're a robot who doesn't have any programming. And your Core Module's got no Laws of Robotics…not even the freaky kind Wily used to program his 'bots with."

"Who is Wily?" Snake Man asked, then in a more firm tone, added, "And would you kindly tell me what my designation is?"

Tex ran a hand through his hair. Jazzhands shrugged and put his Model 7 Buster away.

"What the Hell, Tex. I think he's safe."

"He's got a few thousand screws loose and he's a blank slate." Tex muttered. "And he's a robot master. Safe doesn't come into that definition." He looked at the robot master. "Would you put that gun on your arm away? You're making me nervous."

Snake Man looked to the buster weapon on his left arm and blinked. "Oh. I hadn't noticed it." He concentrated for a moment, and it shifted away, replaced with a more normal seeming hand. Snake Man flexed it for a few moments, then looked up. "Is that better, Tex?"

"Yeah." Tex was more relaxed, now that the robot's gun was put away. "All right. Your name is…"

He paused for a bit, then nodded. "Snake. Your name's Snake." Jazzhands gave him a sideways glance, but Tex ignored it.

Snake Man pondered the revelation. "My name is…Snake. Definition accepted." The robot nodded, seeming more confident. "Very well. Next question. Where are we?"

Tex rolled his eyes. "Good lord." The human turned for the exit, grumbling under his breath the entire time.

Snake looked to Jazzhands for an explanation, and the reploid shrugged. "He's having a bad day. I'll explain on the way out."

Snake nodded. "Then I will come with you."

* * *

"I see. So reploids are…the next evolution from robots?" Snake stated unsurely, as the unlikely trio emerged from Wily's hidden chambers.

"Well, yeah. You could say that." Jazzhands nodded. "We take our design templates from Mega Man X. He's the prototype of the reploid race. The little brother of Mega Man, supposedly. Who you fought against."

Snake shook his head. "I have no memories of this Mega Man, or of any combat. If I'm to believe you, I am a duplicate of that original robot master anyway. Regardless, reploids: What is the difference between reploids and robots?"

"We think better than robots do." Jazzhands said.

"They're more human." Tex chimed in. "Course, it takes 'em a while to pick that up. When they're fresh outta the box, they're as sociable as you, Snake."

"The concept of _tabula rasa_, or "Blank Slate", Snake." Jazzhands corrected his friend. The reploid raised a hand up when they finally hit the outside and the sun beat down on them. "Reploids are born with some basics: A communications package, the Laws of Robotics, but the rest we pick up as we go. Kind of like how you're going to have to learn, since you've got nothing rolling around in that noggin of yours." Jazzhands laughed nervously. "Gotta say, though, I prefer that to the alternative."

"Me being a killing machine intent on fulfilling the prerogatives of a long-dead tyrant?" Snake surmised dryly. "Based on what you have told me about this Dr. Wily, that was supposedly what I was supposed to be."

"And…you don't feel the need to be that?" Tex asked.

"Why would I?" Snake countered. "You are the only human I have met, Tex. I have felt no compulsion to cause you harm."

"You'll want to keep that in mind." Jazzhands advised him. "Since you're a robot, people will expect you to follow the Laws of Robotics. Don't let them know that you're not programmed with them."

"You know, I kind of thought it was impossible for a robot to exist without those." Tex drawled. "Ain't your kind supposed to shut down if those Laws go screwy?"

Snake ignored the question, as he could give no clear answer for it. There were too many things he didn't know, and though Tex and Jazzhands were talkative, they did not have all the answers his mind screamed for. He let the human lead them to a vehicle of some sort, which seemed lodged in a large rock outcropping along the ground.

"Well, here's our ride." Tex said. "Good old Hilda, our hovercar. That lightning storm that blew through last night got us into a wreck." He ran a hand through his hair. "Damn thing. It got us this far, but we're gonna have to walk the rest of the way to our next stop. We couldn't get it loose."

Snake sized up the vehicle and its impediment for several moments. The smaller robot stepped around his rescuers and tilted his head to the side at the scene. "I believe your car can be salvaged."

"Salvaged?" Tex repeated with a laugh. "Hell, Hands could barely budge the damn thing. How're you gonna get it loose?"

Following the mantra that actions could speak louder than words, Snake activated his weapons systems and morphed his left arm and hand into the buster configuration it had started out as. Two deliberate pulls of the trigger launched a pair of snakelike projectiles that soared through the air, hissing. Small scaly tails flagellated behind them, propelling them through the air for a ways before gravity pulled them to the ground. As Tex and Jazzhands watched, the metallic snakes slithered across the desert surface and tracked their way up and around the hovercar. With a tremendous drilling groan, the projectiles burrowed into the rock around it and slowly began to dismantle the sandstone wedged against the vehicle.

Twenty seconds later, the snakes reappeared, fell out of their holes, and went motionless. The hovercar slumped against the ground a moment later as the last of the rock pinching it gave way.

Snake turned to look at Tex and Jazzhands, looking very satisfied. "Search Snakes. My weapons system. Useful for reconnaissance and burrowing. They can eat through hardened metals as well, according to the readings I am receiving."

Jazzhands whistled. "Well. That's pretty nice, all right."

"He'd make a good addition to the team, I'll tell you what." Tex agreed. They moved to the hovercar and piled in. Though its outer body had taken a fierce ding, the hovercar powered up with only a slight complaint. "Hm. She'll get us to Brushwood, Hands, but we'll need to get it repaired after that."

"Well, I think we can afford it." Jazzhands chuckled. He laid down a pair of deactivated Metools in the seat behind him, next to the confused robot master. "We should get a decent price out of these two antiques here."

Snake Man looked at the Metools. "What is it that you two do, exactly?"

"Well, we're explorers." Tex said. The hovercar started forward and soared across the desert floor. "See, there's a lot of places most folks don't like to go anymore. Places folks used to be all the time. Jazzhands and I, we go out exploring into these big places and look for stuff that got left behind."

"Old technology. Bits and pieces of a bygone age." Jazzhands added. "You might call us modern day treasure hunters."

"You're scavengers." Snake stated, with no trace of disgust or malice.

Tex and Jazzhands looked at one another for an awkward moment. The human broke the glance and kept his eyes on the road. Jazzhands caught sight of Snake's eyes in his rearview mirror and raised his shoulders by a fraction of an inch.

"Sometimes, we're called that." The reploid ceded.

* * *

_Brushwood, Nevada_

_8:49 A.M._

Brushwood was a very small town, almost more of an outpost. It boasted, by the last census, a population of 89 people and 26 reploids. It had a post office, a bar that doubled as the town hall, and a rundown store with a car garage and fuel station attached to it. It had three streets, if you could call them that; the main drag, with signposts showing directions to points beyond and two smaller packed dirt roads with houses all in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint.

One reploid and two middle-aged mechanics were sitting out in front of the garage. They all looked up as a hovercar that none of them had ever seen before came on approach. The whine of its thrusters echoed ahead of the car.

"Hear that, Jonas?" One of the humans grunted.

The other tipped the rim of his hat up to get a better look at the vehicle. "One of the thrusters is out of alignment."

The reploid scrutinized the vehicle with his more sensitive eyes. "It's leaning to the side. The repulsors are probably failing on it."

As the hovercar got closer, the first human guffawed. The side of the car came into clear view, looking like somebody had slammed a mountain into it. "That dent might have sumthun' to do with it."

The vehicle sputtered to a stop in front of the shop, and didn't so much set down as it thudded to the dusty road. A hiss of steam from underneath the hood of the ride punctuated its precarious situation, and the driver got out coughing.

"You boys open for business?"

"We're always open, mister." The first man of the shop called back. "Leastwise, when we're not eating."

"Or screwing." His partner added with a wink.

The driver ignored the remark. "She took a few lumps in that storm last night. It was a Hell of a blow." The passenger in the front seat climbed out; a silver-colored reploid. "You boys think you can fix it?"

The first mechanic mopped a towel across his forehead. "Three days. That's about how long it takes us to get parts ordered in if we need 'em. If it takes us less time, we won't charge you full price." He stuck his hand out. "Deal?"

The driver smiled and shook on it. "Deal. Hank Johnson."

"Emory Stackpole, proprietor." The head mechanic responded. He motioned to the other two wrench turners. "My boys, Jonas Maggor and Flake."

A loud growl of Tex's stomach ended the introductions. The treasure hunter rubbed his belly forlornly. "You know where we can get a bite to eat? I've got a mighty appetite going."

"Yeah, the town bar does a loosemeat sandwich that's pretty good. Tell 'em Emory sent you."

"We'll do that." Tex smiled. He looked back to the ride. "Hands, let's get over to the bar. These boys're gonna take care of Hilda for us."

"Hilda?" Emory raised an eyebrow. "You named your car Hilda?"

"That wrong?"

"Why didn't you name it Betsy?"

Jazzhands tapped the top of the hovercar, letting the metal frame ring in the desert air. "That wouldn't be his style." The silver reploid leaned his head into the cabin and said something inaudible to a third passenger sitting in the back.

At Jazzhands' prompting, the boy stepped out of the damaged hovercar and moved around the side of the vehicle. At least, they thought it was a boy, seeing how short it was compared to Tex and Jazzhands.

Once he was clear of the car, they could see his metallic construction, and realized how wrong they were. The green snakehead cowling and tail dangling behind his back were giveaways as well.

"Your vehicle is being repaired, then?" The snake-headed mechanical man asked flatly.

"Yep." Tex nodded, leading their ensemble towards the bar Emory had indicated; two buildings down, hard to miss.

"Hey, Hank…who's your friends?" Emory shouted out after the man.

Tex paused, then shrugged. "This here's my right-hand buddy, Jazzhands…and this feller here is Snake."

Emory and his crew watched the three unlikely travelers wander off in the direction of the town pub, unwilling to call out after them again. He finally spat on the ground and turned away. "Well, we got a hovercar to fix up, boys. Let's get to it."

"Hey, boss?" Jonas said unsurely.

"Yeah?"

"Wasn't that little feller a…"

"A reploid?" Emory cut in. "Maybe."

Flake headed inside the garage for his toolkit. "Sure didn't look like any reploid I've ever seen before, Mr. Stackpole."

"No, he didn't, did he?" Emory exhaled.

* * *

_Mitch's Place_

_Brushwood, Nevada_

_8:59 A.M._

Very few places got scrambled eggs right; it involved constant stirring and only a little more than a minute's worth of direct heat. If done correctly, they were moist and fluffy. If done wrong, they were crusty.

Mitch's Place, the bar and sole eatery in town that was presumably run by a guy named Mitch, seemed to know how to do their eggs. Hank shoveled another spoonful into his mouth and grunted in satisfaction.

"Keep this up, Tex, you'll be due for a heart attack in a week." Jazzhands joked.

"Mrrrmph." The old man waggled his spoon to his old traveling partner as he swallowed. "You ain't that lucky, Hands. You should be enjoying 'em too, ya know." He looked over to Snake Man, who sat opposite of him at the small square table and stared blankly at his own plate of eggs and hashbrowns. "What about you? How come you ain't eating?"

"I cannot ingest food." Snake answered calmly. The robot looked around the tavern, lifting the hood of his snakelike cowl to get a better view of the other humans around also eating their breakfasts. None of them seemed particularly friendly as they looked at him. "I am somewhat surprised that you can, Jazzhands."

"Eh, reploids were given an upgrade." Jazzhands shrugged. "We don't have to eat, but it doesn't hurt anything."

"How…fortunate." Snake looked up back to Tex. "My presence here seems to be an irritant for the other humans."

Tex snapped to and finally noticed the odd looks. "Huh." He swallowed another bite of eggs and reached for his glass of water. He drained half of it to clear his throat. "Yeah, it looks like. You've got a real recognizable appearance, Snake. We're not gonna be in this town for very long. All you got to do is stick with us and you'll be safe."

"I was not aware that a human could cause sufficient damage to my chassis to elicit the possibility of harm." Snake blinked.

Jazzhands snorted and coughed up a bit of egg he'd been chewing on, quickly wiping at his face with a napkin. "Did he just make a joke, Tex?"

Tex set an elbow down on the edge of the table and used it to prop his head up. "It sure sounded like it."

"A joke; a story with a humorous outcome, reliant on hyperbole, sarcasm, or double meanings." Snake Man intoned, referring to some scrap of data from his limited memory. "It was not my intention to make a…joke."

"The best jokes, Snake, happen without you even trying." Jazzhands assured him.

Snake Man pushed his plate towards Tex and stood up. "I am going to go exploring for a while. I should be back when you finish your meals."

"Yeah? Well, don't go too far." Tex warned the robot. "You don't know it yet, but the world isn't exactly friendly to your kind. Or Jazzhand's, in places."

The robot raised one eyebrow slightly. "I'll keep that in mind." Snake Man turned about and headed out of Mitch's Place, leaving the hinged doors swinging behind him.

One of the other patrons walked over and leaned in on Tex and Jazzhands' table. "If I were you two, I'd keep a close eye on that robot of yers. Folks don't take too kindly to 'em around here."

"I got that impression." Jazzhands rolled his eyes, spearing another bit of hashbrowns on his fork. "But don't you worry none. Snake can take care of himself."

* * *

The green, snake-headed robot had marched out of Brushwood a good three hundred yards into the wastes just beyond the hamlet's edge. A pair of onlookers by the post office sat in their unfolded lawn chairs and watched the child-sized mechanical man.

"What do you think he's up to?" One man in his forties asked. He held a beer in one hand in spite of the early hour, letting it warm in the sun between sips.

An older gentleman, perhaps the first man's father, set his hands in his lap and shook his head. "Dunno. He's just standin' there."

Unaware of the conversation far out of earshot, Snake Man flexed his left hand. In a seamless flash, it pulled back up into his arm and allowed the egg-shaped weapons launcher to reappear.

He lifted his weaponized arm up and stared at it, pondering why he was born with the capacity for violence, but no inclination. Based on the account that Tex and Jazzhands had given, not to mention the condition of the laboratory cache he had been found in, his existence was a fluke.

_I was supposed to wake up loyal to a man who has long since died._ Instead, as Jazzhands had explained, his activation had arisen without any pre-existing prerogatives. No code of conduct every decision he made had to be filtered through. No true "Core Module" to speak of.

Snake pointed his weapon to the ground and mentally pulled the trigger. With a minor hiss of pressurized air, a small green metallic projectile popped free and fell to the ground. It landed unceremoniously, coiled up, and then lifted its head up to look at him.

A "Search Snake", as his memory banks informed him. He had used the weapon prior to free the hovercar of his fortune-hunting rescuers. His wireless interlink to the small device allowed him to see through its eyes, giving him a look at himself from the outside.

_So that is what I look like._

A quick command set the snake scurrying across the desert at speeds no biological scaletail could match. The test was a simple one, but effective; the multipurpose creation traveled nearly half a kilometer before it lost power and disintegrated. It had remained in effective broadcast range for the entire time.

Adding to the test, he dropped a second snake and bounded across the basin, circling around the town until he was a half kilometer distant from his original checkpoint. A blink of his eyes sent the search snake scurrying ahead again, and it reached 0.99 kilometers before he lost signal.

"Effective interlink range will likely decrease in more crowded surroundings, or with substantial EM interference." Snake Man told himself softly. His weapon's capabilities defined, Snake Man turned to his own physical attributes. In short order, he had determined his own top running speed, his durability, and…

Back by the post office, the older man whistled loudly when the green robot suddenly leapt high into the air, gaining substantial hangtime before he fell back to the ground. "He's like a damn jackrabbit."

Three minutes later, Snake Man strolled back into Brushwood. Tex and Jazzhands walked out of Mitch's Place and met him outside.

"So, where'd you go exploring?" Tex drawled.

Snake Man pointed vaguely out into the wastes. "Just outside of town."

Tex scratched at his head. "Huh. I could've sworn that you'd take off running soon as you got the chance."

Snake's mouth twitched. "An illogical course of action. You two are the only people in this world that I know. Therefore, I must stay with you."

Tex thought about the robot's reasoning. He had to admit it made sense.

"You're the strangest robot master I've ever heard of, Snake."

"Based on your description of my predecessors, I will consider that remark a compliment." Snake Man answered.

* * *

_7:20 P.M._

The three had spent a substantial portion of the day relaxing in Mitch's place, drinking, eating, and watching a slightly fuzzy entertainment feed from Los Angeles. With the closest public Electrosphere towers spaced out between California and Arizona, it was a miracle that they could get that much. Every so often, another resident of Brushwood would happen by to get a look at the newcomers. Many of them were suspicious or hostile towards Snake Man, but the robot was protected by the presence of his two companions, and was remarkably unflappable in his own right.

Finally though, it became clear that their hovercar wouldn't be out of the shop until tomorrow, or even later. With that in mind, the three sought out a place where they could bed down for the evening. Without traditional lodgings, they went door to door to seek a restful hearth. Tex's money eventually earned them enough sympathy that an elderly couple gave them their garage to sleep in.

Mrs. Walker, the gray-haired lady of the rundown two-story house with chipped white paint, teetered in with an armful of blankets. "Here. This should help you boys stay warm tonight. The forecast said it was going to get a bit chilly." She narrowed her eyelids, trying to get past her myopic condition for a better look at them. "You sure you don't need anything else? If I looked hard enough, we've probably got an old blowup mattress around somewhere…"

Jazzhands accepted the blankets with a smile and a shake of his head. "Don't worry, ma'am. We're used to roughing it. A roof above our heads is plenty, and we've got our camping gear besides."

"Well, all right then." She turned back around, so slowly that the reploid could have sworn he heard her muscles creak. "Breakfast's at seven on the dot. Be sure you come in for some pancakes now, you hear?"

"We'll be there, Mrs. Walker." Jazzhands promised.

Over in the corner of the garage, Tex made a noise of surprise. "What do you mean, they're not worth that much? Listen, bub, these are _Wily_ Metools! Who's going to want them as anything but deactivated?"

Snake and Jazzhands looked at each other. The reploid offered a hasty explanation. "Our broker."

Tex stomped his foot. "No, you don't tell me how much these things are worth. I tell **you** how much they're worth and you go and sell 'em for that much. End of discussion!" He clicked the phone off and jammed it into his pocket with emphasis. "Honestly, that Reg needs to grow some balls. He keeps trying to shortsell us."

"Ah, relax already. It's not good for your blood pressure." Jazzhands shushed him. "Now get settled in already. You're the only one of us who needs to keep warm."

"Hmph." Tex sullenly climbed into his sleeping bag and pulled the covers over himself. "All right, I'm tucked in. What about you, Snake? What do you for sleep, or stasis, or whatever you call it?"

The robot leaned against a wall of the garage. "A stasis cycle purges my short-memory cache and prioritizes storage of data into long-term memory. Auto-repair and diagnostics run as well, and take up most of the stasis cycle's time."

"…Uh, actually, I was going to ask you if you needed a bed or something."

"Ah." Snake blinked. "In that case, reclining in a neutral posture suffices." He sat down with his back still to the wall. "I am ready for stasis."

"Heh, you're a sight easier than Jazzhands is. Half the time, he asks me to tell him a bedtime story." Tex joked. His reploid friend stuck his tongue out in reply.

Snake rested his white gloved hands and green forearms on his legs. "Explain."

Jazzhands slid into his own sleeping bag, a little more slowly than Tex had. "You mean, what's a bedtime story?" Snake moved his head in the affirmative, and the reploid scratched his chin. "Well...A bedtime story is a story you tell someone else before they go to bed. They're usually pleasant in nature. Happy endings help with good dreams, supposedly."

Snake blinked. "Dreams? What are those?"

Jazzhands sputtered on that explanation, and Tex laughed. "You stumped 'im, son. Course, I can't think of a good answer myself. How about we settle for a story instead. You got one you want to hear?"

"I do not know of any stories worth hearing." Snake protested. The robot looked down at the floor. "Perhaps you can tell me how you two became scaveng…treasure hunters. I believe that is the term you used."

"Well, Hell. I can tell that one in my sleep, son." Tex boasted.

"Yeah, but can you do it without embellishment?" His counterpart sniped.

"How about you shut up and lemme tell the dang story already?" Tex cleared his throat. "All right, Snake. How we started out as explorers. See, my family was big into oil; has been since my great-granddaddy, back before World War III. That was about a century ago." He cut off Snake's question before the robot could ask it, and Snake closed his mouth.

"Of course, once the oil dried up, they had to find other things. My dad switched over to energen crystal mining and processing, and that did the trick. Now me, I liked the digging fine, but the whole running a company bit? That wasn't for me. So when I went to College, I told my dad that I was going to be an archaeologist." He laughed grimly. "M'daddy didn't take too kindly to that idea, and he wrote me out of the will. All ah had to my name was the million and a half credits in my bank account, so I decided that I'd make my career a bit more profitable. There's a bull market for old-fashioned robots in the last century, ever since the War of 2090 did a fair job of knocking out a lot of data. People don't know where a lot of old stuff is anymore. I tried digging around to find old Tokyo once, but I couldn't find anything, and my equipment kept breaking down anyhow."

He motioned to Jazzhands. "Ah found this guy in 2123, and we've been pals ever since. He's great with a jackhammer. So whaddya think, Snake? Good story, huh?"

Tex and Jazzhands looked over to where Snake Man was resting on the floor. The robot master's eyes were closed, and his arms were folded.

"Huh." Tex scratched at his head. "Snake?"

"You wanted to tell him a bedtime story, boss." Jazzhands explained with a grin. "Looks like you did."

The reploid flopped over and shut down before Tex could throw a retort in his direction. Left alone, Tex flopped hard onto a lumpy pillow he always traveled with and stared out of the garage window.

"No damn respect. None at all."

* * *

_June 28__th__, 2138 C.E._

_6:42 A.M._

Tex came to with a snort and a flash of pain from his back. Cringing, he rolled over partways and reached behind him; an old wrench had found its way under his sleeping bag.

"Morning, champ. Feeling alive?" Jazzhands asked merrily.

"Feeling old and sore." Tex sat up with a grunt. Jazzhands was sitting on an old plastic crate, already prepared for the day. "Did I miss breakfast?"

"No, you've got about 15 minutes to shower and get dressed."

"Forget the shower." Tex dismissed the idea. "It's a waste of water out here." He got up and went for his clothes. "Where's Snake at? He's not in here."

"He was already outside when I woke up, Tex."

"Doing what, exactly?" Tex pulled off yesterday's shirt and reached for a fresh one.

"Nothing." Jazzhands pulled his helmet off and ran a hand through the black hair underneath. "He's just standing there, looking around."

"He's got a screw loose, that one." Tex sighed. "Robots ain't supposed to do that sorta thing, right?"

"Robots _aren't_ supposed to be able to run without a functioning Core Module either, but that hasn't stopped him." Jazzhands reminded his friend. "I don't think that we can define Snake through the usual methods. He's more like a wild card."

"There's a reason you don't play Poker with the joker, Hands." Tex zipped his pants up and cinched his belt home.

Jazzhands sighed. "Christ, just say it. You don't like him."

Tex froze at the accusation. It took him a moment to collect his thoughts and reach a suitable answer. "I don't trust him. That's different."

"Oh, come on." Jazzhands snapped his helmet back on with a forceful click. "Because he was a Wilybot? His memory was wiped clean. He could have killed us and made off with our car if he'd tried hard enough. He isn't a killer, Hank. He's told you as much."

"Yeah. Maybe." Tex fingered the stubble on his chin. "But you didn't grow up in the 21st Century. Wily left a big damn shadow on everything, Hands. You know why you don't see robot masters around? It isn't just because of reploids. Pretty much every last one got scrapped, just to make sure there'd never be another Robot Rebellion." He met Jazzhands' gaze, then looked at the garage door. "That feller out there's an endangered species."

"You think we should tell him that?" Jazzhands asked softly.

"I think he already knows." Tex replied.

* * *

The two walked out of the garage and walked up to Snake Man, who was staring off into space just as Jazzhands had indicated earlier. The robot master stilled, but did not turn around to look at them.

"Good morning." Snake greeted them.

"Morning yourself, sport." Tex said. "You get a decent night's sl…er, stasis?"

The green snakehead cowling and rattlesnake tail went back and forth. "My cycle was interrupted four hours ago. I have been out here since then."

"Interrupted by what?" Jazzhands questioned.

Snake Man shrugged, imitating the reploid's gesture from the previous day. "I do not know precisely. It is…it is like someone was nearby and set off my motion sensors, but was never there." He turned around to look at them. "That likely makes no sense."

"To a robot, maybe." Tex stuck his hands in his pockets. "But us humans, that's like a sixth sense sorta thing. Every so often, we'll get the hairs on the back of our neck standing up, and feel like somebody's watching us. In your case, it's probably true. Remember, Snake, you're the star attraction in this town right now."

"Perhaps." Snake Man conceded. He pointed up to the roof of the garage, directing Tex and Jazzhands to notice several small metallic snakes perched on lookout. "I have set up observational snakes to watch the area in the meantime."

"Well…okay then." Tex blinked to clear his mind of the somewhat ominous sight. "Hey, we're headed into the house for some breakfast. You wanna come with?"

"My systems do not require nourishment, and my presence would be a hindrance." Snake refused him. "I will remain out here and keep watch."

Not about to pick a fight over a meaningless topic, Tex moseyed into the Walker household. Jazzhands walked up to Snake and set a hand on the robot's shoulder.

"You know, Tex likes to rely on his "Gut instincts" a lot too, Snake, but he's wrong plenty of times. I think you're worrying over nothing."

Snake Man's face tightened with a moment's indecision. "Perhaps." He offered no further conclusions, and turned away from Jazzhands to end the conversation.

Shaking his head, Jazzhands headed into the house for breakfast. Paranoia was a worrisome trait in a reploid…

Much less a robot.

* * *

_Stackpole Spark and Brake_

_Brushwood, Nevada_

_7:58 A.M._

"Welp, I've got good news and bad news." Emory Stackpole drawled. "The good news is, outside of the body damage and your port hoverthrusters, your car's in decent shape. I've got enough parts here in the shop we don't need to order out for extras."

"One of the benefits of driving a rustbucket." Tex joked. "Hilda's an old stubborn gal, but she gets us where we need to be. So, what's the bad news?"

"The bad news is that one of my boys, Jonas, didn't come in this morning. Didn't call, either, the sumbitch. So with just me and Flake, we'll be finishing up late tomorrow morning."

"Well, that isn't good." Jazzhands complained. "We're not exactly real popular guys in this town right now."

"From what I hear, it's not you they don't like." Emory said, looking to Snake Man. "It's him." Snake Man blinked, but offered no comment. "Folks aren't too keen on having an old robot master 'round these parts."

"I have been online for less than twenty-six hours." Snake Man retorted. "I am not _old_."

"So he's a robot." Jazzhands cut in. "He isn't a danger. That, and he's with us. Has been since we found him. You might let the rest of the town know they don't have anything to worry about."

"Yeah, I suppose I could." Emory scratched his head. "Of course, people have a way of keeping their minds made up. And I think you boys are fresh out of favors."

Tex tousled his hair. "All right. How about we scratch your back and you scratch ours."

Emory leaned forward a bit, resting his foot on the hood of Hilda. "Well…I suppose that'd be all right then. What'd you have in mind, Mr. Johnson?"

"You said your boy Jonas hasn't showed up. Why don't we go find him for you, see what's going on?"

"And I put in a good word for your robot here in the meantime, is that it?" Emory thought about it for a few moments. "All right, sounds like a plan. Jonas lives five miles outside of town, northwest o' here. He's got a little trailer home out by a small junkyard of rusted out cars."

"Good." Tex looked to Snake Man. "Snake, why don't you go ahead and plop here for now? You could help out with the car if they need it."

"As you wish, Tex." Snake nodded.

"You got another car Hands and I can use in the meantime, Emory?" Tex asked the lead mechanic.

The middle-aged man sighed and dug around in his greasy coveralls. He pulled out a jingling keyring and tossed it over to the affable Texan. "The brown sedan outside with a ding in the passenger window. Just don't take it over sixty miles an hour; the engine's been iffy, and I haven't had the chance to replace the gasket seals."

"You got it." Tex winked. "We'll see you in a bit, boys. Snake? You stay out of trouble, son."

"I'm not sure how one gets _in_ to trouble in the first place." Snake Man lifted an eyebrow.

"In our case, you breathe." Jazzhands muttered, trailing after the retreating Tex.

The mechanics waited until the sedan outside sputtered to life and tore out of town before they got back to work. Following Tex's suggestion, Snake turned to Emory and Flake. "Do you require assistance with the vehicular repair?"

"Not really." Flake said idly. The reploid lay back on a wheeled plank and pushed underneath the car. "We've got this pretty well in order."

"For now, I'd appreciate it if you just stood over there and kept quiet." Emory grumbled.

Snake Man crossed his arms. "That isn't what Tex wished me to do."

"No, it's what I'm _tellin' _you to do. So do it already, robot."

"No." Snake Man retorted shortly.

Flake pushed back out from the car's undercarriage and looked from Emory to Snake. "Aren't you supposed to follow direct orders? From humans?"

"Just the ones that make sense." Snake concluded.

* * *

_8:07 A.M._

"You sure we're headed the right direction, Tex?" Jazzhands blocked the morning sun with his forearm.

"Sure I'm sure. He said northeast, and we're headed northeast."

"Really?" Jazzhands asked dubiously.

"Well…roughly." His partner admitted. Tex kept his eyes on the desert ahead of them. "So unless you've got a GPS tracker rattling around in that skull of yours, you're just gonna have to trust me."

"You've known me for damn near fifteen years." Jazzhands drummed his fingertips on his leg. "If I had one of those, don't you think I would've used it by now?"

"Yeah, I guess." Tex checked the speed gauge briefly; Emory had been right about the engine. He was keeping it at fifty, and it was still making ominous noises. "We should be getting close. Keep your eyes peeled."

"Jonas Maggor…a shack, right?"

"Eh, more like one of those mobile homes." Tex thought back. "Of course, we'll probably see the junkyard first."

The two drove on for another minute and crested a small rise before they saw a pile of rusty metal that stood out against the salt flat desert.

"There it is." Jazzhands pointed. "Just like you said it'd be. A big mess."

As they drove down the embankment and came within a quarter mile, they got a better look at the collection of abandoned vehicles surrounding Jonas's home. Jazzhands frowned, able to see details more clearly. "Jesus. I didn't figure Jonas was into scrap."

"Hey, the cars are old, they're not scrap."

"Really?" Jazzhands lifted an eyebrow. "Then why are most of them ripped apart? It's like somebody was crunching these things."

Tex craned his neck as they drove up for a better look, and gasped when he saw that one of the old transport vans on the lot had its entire left side of the nose crushed in, and its driver side door bent out and horribly warped. Other cars in the expansive lot seemed just as bad, and some were literally standing piles of debris. The damage was more than the elements themselves could do.

Some of them were heat scorched as well.

"Woah. That's…" He paused to swallow. "Well, not natural." He looked to Jazzhands, whose face was darkened. "You getting a bad feeling, Hands?"

"I'm not getting a good one." Jazzhands muttered.

Tex slowed the car to a stop and killed the engine. The two got out of the beat up loaner sedan and approached one of the closest destroyed cars. Tex reached his hand out to a bit of charred, blackened metal and bared his teeth. "It's still warm."

"A fire didn't do this, though." Jazzhands said, looking around. "There's wreckage, but the ground here…You'd see glassing. Charred cracked ground." The reploid popped out his stun buster and got it ready to fire. "Plasma weapons fire. Has to be."

"Which means Mavericks." Tex whispered fearfully. He looked around, fully expecting a deranged reploid to come leaping out of the vehicular graveyard to slice his throat open.

Jazzhands scanned the perimeter and shook his head. "I'm not picking up any movement or EM fluctuations around here. If there was a Maverick, they're gone now."

Encouraged by that hasty all-clear, Tex made his way to the small, sunfaded trailer home in the middle of the lot. The door to the home was wide open, slamming against the side of the trailer from a gust of wind.

Tex took two steps inside, froze, then scrambled back out and promptly vomited Mrs. Walker's breakfast all over the desert soil.

"What is it?" Jazzhands shouted, moving to his partner's side.

Tex spat up some acrid saliva and wiped his mouth on his shirt sleeve. "He's dead." Tex said shakily. "Jesus, he's…We've got to call the police."

As Tex got back up on wobbly legs and reached for his satellite phone, Jazzhands chanced a look inside. If he'd been capable of vomiting, he probably would have as well.

What was left of Jonas Maggor was a mess. His chest was partially vaporized, and the rest was a charred pile of exposed ribs and sick flesh. His arms and legs were horribly disfigured and out of alignment, pulled from their sockets completely and kept attached only by skin and ligament.

His face, or what was left of it, was open in a grisly scream that he'd never been able to finish.

"God almighty." Jazzhands pulled his helmet off and put a hand to his eyes. "What the Hell's going on?"

* * *

_10:34 A.M._

"Well, are you satisfied yet?" Jazzhands asked. Brushwood had no true law enforcement, so emergency services had sent the state patrol to their location. A wire ran from the silver reploid's stun buster to a scanner held by the officer interviewing them. Two others dutifully bagged what was left of Jonas Maggor for burial.

The officer waited until his scanner flashed green, then pulled the wire's lead from a port on the side of Jazzhand's buster. "All right, you're clean. You haven't fired that thing off for weeks."

"Not to mention it doesn't have the oomph to do this kind of damage." Jazzhands complained. "Or did you not see that part, either?"

The state patrolman ignored Jazzhand's comeback and looked to Tex. "And you say that you came out here to find Mr. Maggor on behalf of his employer?"

"Yeah. Our car's in the shop, and Jonas was supposed to be working on it." Tex confirmed.

The officer made a noncommittal grunt. "I've had another officer in Brushwood doing some interviews. From what he tells me, there's a third member of your little traveling band. A robot, and an old robot _master_ to boot. Is that right?"

"Well, yeah. Snake." Tex agreed unsurely. "So?"

"Would that be short for Snake Man? From the Third Robot Rebellion?" The sheriff asked him. "Folks get kind of touchy about that one, especially with how close Wily's fortress was in that mess."

"Yeah, but Snake isn't the same one. We found him in some wrecked out ruins the day before, and he's got nothing in his programming like you'd need to be afraid of." Jazzhands insisted.

The officer seemed to listen with only half an ear. "So you've known this robot for less than a day, and you know him well enough to vouch for him?"

"I think what Jazzhands is trying to say is, we've gotten no indication from the little squirt he'd be mixed up in anything like this."

"Really?" The state lawman drummed his fingers on the back of his scanner. "Based on the heat residue from the plasma marks and the condition of the body, the attack happened around six hours ago." He lifted an eyebrow. "Can you vouch for your robot's whereabouts during that time?"

"He was outside the garage we slept in." Jazzhands said. "He mentioned that he felt like somebody was watching him, so he stayed up and kept vigil."

"Or he could have run out here, murdered Mr. Maggor, and run back. Or teleported." The officer reasoned. "He's a robot master. They do have the capability to travel that fast if they need to. Your alibi for him is shaky at best."

Jazzhands felt his temper begin to rise. "He wouldn't do that. And it wouldn't make any sense. If he was a killing robot, why would he come back and stay with us?"

"To conceal the crime."

"That's what a _human_ would do after murdering somebody, not a robot!" Jazzhands snapped.

The officer's eyes narrowed. "Then since you're such an authority on it…how would a robot kill him, then?"

Tex put a hand on Jazzhands' shoulder and cut into the conversation. "Take it easy, Jazzhands." He warned his reploid companion. "We may not be able to account for our robot's whereabouts precisely, officer, but I can tell you you're barking up the wrong tree. Snake can't shoot plasma blasts. He doesn't have that weapons system. If you're looking for an easy scapegoat, you're shit out of luck." The Texan blinked. "Of course, if you're deadset on arresting an innocent man, I could always lodge a complaint with the state office about your conduct."

The not so subtle threat finally forced the state patrolman to ease off. He snorted derisively and pocketed his scanner. "That robot ain't no man, Mr. Johnson. Don't worry about it." He pulled back out of the drawl he'd slipped into and reverted to his more practiced tone. "We're about done here, anyhow. Just a friendly piece of advice, though. Don't go skipping town on us. We may need to ask you some more questions."

"We're stuck in Brushwood until Mr. Stackpole finishes fixing up our car anyways." Tex said. "After that, we're out of here."

The officer nodded curtly and turned to rejoin the others, leaving Tex to soothe a fuming Jazzhands.

"That narrow-minded asshole." Jazzhands hissed lowly.

"Yeah, well you might not talk about the narrow-minded asshole when he's still in earshot." Tex said, even softer than Jazzhands' remark.

Jazzhands stormed towards their vehicle, forcing Tex to jog to keep pace with him. "Hasn't Snake proven himself? Hasn't he earned the right to be above this kind of reproach? I'm sick and tired of it! If he can't catch a break, how in God's name are we reploids supposed to?"

"Hey, don't forget we're on the same team here." Tex said. He moved around the front of the sedan as Jazzhands slammed the passenger door shut. "I stuck up there for him, didn't I?"

Some of the tension in Jazzhands' shoulders slackened off. "Yeah, you did. Why? This morning, you were saying you didn't trust him."

"I still don't." Tex said. He pushed the ignition switch and shifted the sedan into drive. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to let some Podunk county mountie use him as the quick solution to his murder investigation. No, Snake couldn't have done this. I'm afraid for him, though. Enough people in Brushwood might get the wrong idea, try to lynch him."

"I don't know how well that'd work." Jazzhands muttered. "He isn't exactly defenseless."

"Yeah, and one wrong move on his part turns him from a guy on the run from a pitchfork mob to a killer robot with a BOLO poster in every lawman's cruiser." Tex drove them out of the ruined car graveyard and back towards Brushwood, more than a little nervous as to what they'd find when they got back. "Remember that business in Florida four years back? You almost got reprocessed because of that drunk bastard. They'll do worse to him if he hurts someone, even in self-defense."

"Yeah, I guess they would." Jazzhands leaned forward and rested his helmet against the dashboard. "One thing worries me more, boss."

"What's that, Hands?"

"Since we know Snake didn't off Jonas…just who, or _what_, did?"

Tex breathed deep for several seconds, swerving around a bit of debris that got too close to the sedan's wheels.

"I don't know."

* * *

_Stackpole Spark and Brake_

_Brushwood, Nevada_

_10:50 A.M._

Neither Tex nor Jazzhands were all that surprised to see both Emory and Flake standing outside the shop waiting for them as they pulled back in to town.

"They don't look too happy, boss." Jazzhands stated.

"If I'd had one of my friends murdered before breakfast, I'd be downright pissed too." Tex reminded the reploid. "Just let me do the talking, smooth things over."

He pulled the sedan up beside the shop, killed the engine, and stepped out. "I reckon you heard, then. I'm sorry, Emory."

"Sorry doesn't bring my friend back." Emory replied coldly. "It was your robot that did it, wasn't it?"

"No." Tex shook his head. "It couldn't have been."

"Because he was with you? You covering for him, old man?"

Tex sighed. "No. Snake doesn't have plasma weapons, and Jonas was fried. Snake couldn't have done it."

The two men had a brief staring contest, and it was Emory who balked first. He snorted and turned around. "Well, come on then. You can pick your robot up and get him out of our hair."

Tex and Jazzhands followed Emory and Flake inside the garage. "Was he a hassle? I told Snake to help you out with the car while we were gone."

"Oh, he helped some." Emory grumbled. "Flat out told us to go to Hell when we ordered him to go stand in the corner and leave us be. You could have told us that he could break the Laws. Would have saved us some trouble when Flake tried to dent his head in."

Tex blanched. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

Flake snorted. "No. Wrecked my best oversized wrench, though. He used one of his snakes and chewed it right in half."

"Well, maybe if you hadn't tried to hit him with it." Jazzhands pointed out. "I thought we metallic guys were supposed to stick together."

"Jonas was my friend, and your robot don't mean dick to me, coz." Flake snapped back.

Inside the garage, Tex and Jazzhands were startled to see Snake hanging in the corner of the ceiling, watching the entrance like a hawk.

"Snake, what in blazes are you doing up there?" Tex exclaimed.

"Staying away from them." Snake replied calmly. When Tex got closer, he saw that Snake was maintaining the pose by clinging to a pair of Search Snakes that had lodged solidly into the metal walls of the building. The robot master released his hold and dropped to the floor. "At least until you got back. When the law enforcement officials told us of Jonas's death, Emory and Flake became rather…violent."

"Yeah, so we heard. You all right?" Tex asked.

"They were unable to cause any significant damage." Snake assured him. He gestured to his face, where a barely noticeable cut into the synthskin under his eye lay. "My auto-repair systems should complete the dermal reconstruction within two hours."

"Look, we know it's not your fault." Jazzhands told the robot. "Whoever killed Jonas used plasma to do it. They were strong, too."

"That may be the case, but I do not believe words are enough to keep the people of this town from attempting to cause me further harm." Snake Man glanced meaningfully at Emory, who looked away.

"Yeah, I've been thinking about that myself." Tex mused. "This morning, you said that you had a funny feeling, like somebody was watching you."

"Yes?"

"Well, if you were right, maybe the Maverick who killed Jonas was in Brushwood early this morning, and you picked up on him." Tex reasoned. "Seems to me there's one answer to this whole mess, Snake."

"What would that be, Tex?" The robot inquired, genuinely curious.

"If we're going to prove you're innocent, we need to catch the bastard who really did it." The human vowed.

"We?" Snake Man repeated.

"Yeah, we." Jazzhands agreed quickly. "You saved our ass out there in the desert. High time we returned the favor. And besides, you're one of us now."

"I'm a relic, not a scavenger." Snake Man protested.

"You're you." Jazzhands told the robot firmly. "Screw the labels. And tonight, we're going to show this town that you're not the monster they should be afraid of."

* * *

_Brushwood, Nevada_

_June 28__th__, 2138 C.E._

_11:49 P.M._

Tex sat up on the roof of Mrs. Walker's garage, a borrowed shotgun sitting across his lap. The old buckshot-loaded weapon wouldn't do much good against an armed Maverick, but it gave him some reassurance. He yawned, then tapped the earpiece of his headset. "Hey, you boys see anything yet?"

It was a new moon, which meant that there was little natural illumination for him to see by. Jazzhands had a slightly upgraded optics package, but it was still a far cry from the high-end specs carried by most military models. Their ace in the hole was Snake Man, and his network of Search Snake drones all perched at strategic points around Brushwood. One was curled up not more than four feet from the human, and occasionally glanced over towards him. Knowing it was harmless didn't keep Tex from shivering. He'd never liked snakes to begin with.

"That's a negative, boss." Jazzhands called back. He was standing with Snake over on top of Emory's garage, either to protect their robot master or be protected by him. He still wasn't quite sure which.

The reploid lowered his hand from his earpiece and looked to Snake, easily a full foot and some inches shorter than he. "How you holding up, bud?"

Snake bobbed his head ever so slightly. "My early stasis cycle this afternoon has recharged me. How was yours?"

"Ah, I had another weird dream about popsicles. Nothing too bad."

"You reploids are very different." Snake observed. "You have disjointed visions during your stasis cycle, you eat food, and you act human."

"You're basing that solely on myself and Flake." Jazzhands berated the robot. "We've had a lot of years working around and living alongside humans. Some reploids aren't so lucky."

"Why would you want to live with humans?" Snake blinked twice, switching to a different Search Snake feed. He monitored his observation network in the background of the conversation. "Many of them despise reploids, you can barely defend yourself from them, and any behavior that would be considered normal in humans leads to you being declared an irregular reploid, or Maverick. It would seem to me that reploids would be better served living on their own."

"You'd think that, but twenty years ago, another reploid tried to do just that." Jazzhands explained. "His name was Sigma. He was the best of the Maverick Hunters, Dr. Cain's golden boy. One day, he got it in his head that humans were inferior and that they were keeping reploids from their freedom and destiny. So he got some of his buddies together and nearly destroyed New Tokyo, started the Maverick Wars. Mega Man X and his buddy Zero, they put him down, but Sigma always finds a way to keep coming back. I don't know how he does it, but he keeps coming back."

Jazzhands shook his head. "No. He's wrecked everything, little buddy. The last time a group of reploids tried to declare independence nine years back, they were wiped out. If Repliforce couldn't establish a home where reploids could live without fear of persecution, nobody can. We only have one choice; co-existence. It isn't perfect. It's always in jeopardy. But it's all we got."

"Is that why you stay with Tex, then? To survive?"

Jazzhands pulled off his silver helmet and smiled. "Well, partly. But that isn't the only reason. He's the best friend I ever had."

"But you two are always arguing."

"Yeah, we do. But the fact is, if it hadn't been for Tex, I wouldn't be alive. It was gratitude at first, but now I know he's always got my back. And me, I've always got his."

"Tex offered a somewhat winded explanation of how he got started, but he didn't say how you two met."

"Oh, that?" Jazzhands slipped his helmet back on. "You sure you want me to tell you? What if our Maverick shows up?"

"I'm beginning to wonder if this Maverick will show at all." Snake Man mused. "The logical behavior would be for him to flee."

"Mavericks rarely operate on logic." Jazzhands gave his head a shake. "Well…you got eyes on the town?"

"If you mean my Search Snakes, then yes. I am monitoring both normal spectrum and infrared wavelengths." Snake Man blinked again, switching to a different feed. "All is quiet so far."

"Well…in that case." Jazzhands took a moment to think back on it. "I was built to entertain, but was released from my 'employment' after the resort in San Diego I worked at went under. After that, I took to wandering around, doing the odd job to get by. There just wasn't much call for a reploid who was built to play the piano and play old Sinatra licks. I met Tex while I was working as a janitor in New Denver, back in 2123. The hotel I was at burned down, and it was Tex who vouched for me. If it hadn't been for him, the cops would've had me pegged for arson. As it turned out, they figured out it was some punk kid sneaking cigarettes in the laundry room that was responsible. Afterwards, I quit and stormed out of there. Tex offered me the chance to do something else, and…well, I've been with him since."

Snake did another double blink. "I asked."

Jazzhands snorted. "Bored you to death, huh?"

"You didn't put me to sleep." Snake Man offered consolingly. "But your story only confirms something that I've been thinking over today."

"What's that?"

"No matter what reploids do, they will never be above suspicion." Snake did another double blink. "And if that is so, then I truly do not belong here. I do not belong anywhere."

"You belong with us." Jazzhands told him. "I mean…well, if you wanted to stay. We're not going to force you. You don't have the Laws holding you back, and that means you have to make choices."

Switching feeds again, Snake hesitantly asked, "If you were me, Jazzhands, what would you do?"

"You asking me if I would stay or go?"

"Yes. You have faced comparable circumstances to what I'm up against."

Jazzhands exhaled. "For me, it was easy. I had a friend. I left with Tex."

"I do not, though." Snake's gaze stared off somewhere distant. "Have a friend, that is."

"You have us."

"You have each other." Snake Man shook his head. "I am…a third wheel."

"Hey, listen…"

"Quiet." Snake Man raised a hand up to cut Jazzhands off and frowned. "My Search Snakes have detected a perimeter breach."

"Where?" Jazzhands whispered.

Snake Man reached up and toggled his earpiece. "Tex, we have movement on the northern side of town."

"You got eyes on it? Let's make sure it's not just one of the people from town."

Snake had already tuned in to the two nearest snakes by the disturbance. He switched their sights to infrared; the heat was irregularly spread across the humanoid torso. There was no way that it could be human, with its arms and legs sitting at sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit.

"It is not human." Snake advised them.

"Lock and load, then." The robot master and reploid could both hear Tex priming his shotgun.

"Take it easy, boss." Jazzhands warned the human. "You're no match for a Maverick. Let me and Snake have words with him first. I might be able to stun him, at least, and Snake's little buggers could probably do a number on him." Jazzhands looked nervously to his companion. "Right?"

"I can provide no clear answer one way or the other, I am afraid." Snake Man apologized. He withered under Jazzhands' glower and quickly added, "But I will try."

"Attaboy." Jazzhands slapped him on the back and slid off the roof. "Let's get going then."

Keeping a low profile, Snake hopped down after the reploid and set off at a trot. He kept one eye set on the camera feeds from his watchful drones. The Maverick intruder was walking into Brushwood with deliberate footfalls. It had broad shoulders that tapered down towards its waist, and an uncannily flat head by silhouette.

"He's fifty yards ahead." Snake said over the radio, keeping his voice low.

"All right then. Time for me to make some noise. You come in afterwards and attack him when he's good and distracted!" Before Snake could protest or agree, Jazzhands had taken off at a dead run. Snake could only shake his head at his friend's impulsiveness and pick up his own speed, though on shorter legs, it took him more effort.

"Surprise, asshole!" Jazzhands shouted out. He disappeared from Snake's direct line of sight and bounded around the building ahead of them. The sound of his stun buster firing off two blasts echoed through the quiet town, followed shortly by a low, surprised grunt.

Snake nearly tripped over his feet when he heard Jazzhands let out a pained scream.

"HANDS!" Tex's frantic voice cut through Snake's momentary panic attack. "Hang on, buddy, I'm coming!"

Knowing that Tex wouldn't last a second against the Maverick who had so neatly disabled Jazzhands, Snake bounded around the opposite side of the building. He loosed three more Search Snakes ahead of him and set them to seek and attack.

Over his feeds, he could vaguely make out the shapes of Jazzhands and his attacker. The picture in the dead of night was shadowy and inaccurate, but he could have sworn all the same that Jazzhands was _floating._

"You…you're not human." The Maverick said, seeming surprised. "What are you? A robot?"

"Put me down…you Maverick!" Jazzhands wheezed.

Snake reached the edge of the building and peeked his head around. The Maverick was smaller than Jazzhands by a good foot, but the differential didn't bother him in the least. It raised an arm up and pointed it at Jazzhands' chest; a weapon was on the end of it.

A plasma buster.

The Maverick fired point blank, heavily damaging the weak, civilian plating that the silver reploid was equipped with. Jazzhands let out another scream, and the Maverick giggled.

"You may not be human, but you scream like the first one I killed this morning. I wonder, would you pull apart as easily?" The Maverick extended his finger out and twitched, and Jazzhands' entire right arm was ripped out of its socket, sending loose sparks into the air. The reploid howled in pain all over again.

Snake Man was frozen to the spot. Fear and horror had clamped down on his mind, locking out every physical reaction. Only the disruptive noise of a shotgun blast, Tex's shotgun, snapped him out of it.

Ignorant of how outmatched he was, the stubborn Hank Johnson kept his borrowed shotgun pointed right at the Maverick from twenty feet away.

"That first blast was just to get your attention. Now put my buddy down, or the next blast's aimed at your head."

The Maverick said nothing for a moment, then laughed incredulously. "What is that? Some kind of old projectile weapon? You really think you can harm me with that, human?"

Snake Man blinked, as an alert in the corner of his vision went off.

The Search Snakes he had fired were nearly on top of the Maverick. He drew strength from Tex's resolve, and ordered them forward as he stepped around the building and into clear view of Tex and Jazzhands, behind the Maverick's back.

Tex's gaze flickered briefly over the Maverick's shoulder, and he forged a thin-lipped smile. "Nope. Just gotta distract you."

The Maverick tilted his head to the side as the first Search Snake slithered over its foot. "What?"

A second Search Snake aimed for its heel, and the two simultaneously bit into the Maverick's leg, grinding through armor with abandon. The Maverick reared its head back and howled in pain, and Jazzhands was released from the invisible force that kept him airborne.

"That shotgun may not be strong enough to hurt you, but I can." Snake Man called out bravely.

Lights from the buildings and houses in Brushwood began to turn on one by one, and the shine from the windows bathed the Maverick when it turned to look back at Snake. The robot master and his two treasure hunting accomplices got their first good look at the murderer of Jonas Maggor.

He stood at a similar height as Snake Man, around one and a third meters, and his armor was all red. Outside of his capped head, the most curious thing about him was a gauge loaded in the front of his broad-shouldered armor.

The Maverick's eyes widened. "You?" He uttered in shock. A flinch of pain from the Search Snakes' ongoing gnawing forced him to look down, and a flicker of shimmering power sent the weapons flying into the air away from him. He turned his gaze back on Snake Man, still in shock. "You're alive, brother?"

Snake Man's buster lowered slightly. "Brother? Why do you call me that?"

The Maverick smiled, then laughed with a high and incredulous tone. "Unbelievable! Just fantastic! I thought you were dead in that capsule! Everything had been shorted out, your mind was gone!"

Snake narrowed his eyes. "…You're not a Maverick. You're a robot master."

The now correctly identified mechanoid laughed again, and pointed the finger of his right arm at Snake. "As are you. Oh, thank the maker! Now we can fulfill Father's orders!"

"Killing? Destruction?" Snake Man glared back at him. "I refuse."

The robot master was taken aback. "What do you mean? But Father's orders…"

"Are not in my programming." Snake cut him off. "And you must not be allowed to harm anyone else."

The robot master scowled. "And you think to stop me? Well, then. Just try it, brother. I will show you no mercy."

A ruckus of angry noise from around them brought the conversation to an end, as the townsfolk of Brushwood began to step out of their houses. Many also brandished firearms.

The robot master scoffed. "Fine, then. Not here." He looked to Snake Man. "You and I will have our conversation elsewhere. If you wish to stand against Father's wishes, then come and face me in the home you left behind, traitor. I will be _waiting!"_

Before Snake Man could argue the point, the robot master vanished in a beam of red light and shot off into the night sky.

Snake quickly moved to Jazzhands' side and helped the reploid to stand back up. Tex reached down and picked up the severed arm of his friend. "Are you all right, Jazzhands?" Snake asked.

"Ah. I've taken worse lumps." Jazzhands boasted with a strained smile.

"Jesus." Tex breathed. He looked from Jazzhands to Snake, all the time shaking his head. "There were four capsules. Three empty, yours occupied. And only two robot master corpses in that old Wily cache. Looks like the fourth one's been causing all the problems around here." He looked to Snake. "You all right, son?"

Snake found he had no good answer, and so changed the subject.

"That robot master. Did you recognize him?"

"Yeah, and we're in trouble." Tex mused. "That one? He was called Gravity Man."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Jazzhands was sitting back in Mitch's Place with his torn off arm resting across his legs. A good portion of the town was there as well, many drinking the tavern's wares to settle their nerves. The presence of one robot master had unsettled them. Realizing that a second, insane and murderous robot master was lurking around had unhinged them completely.

Flake brought Jazzhands a scotch on the rocks, doubled. "Medical services said they'd be about 45 minutes getting here, Jazz. Can you make it?"

"Well, maybe not _before_ you got me the drink." Jazzhands joked. That got a much-needed tension breaking laugh from the others in the bar, and the damaged reploid downed half of the high-grade liquor in one go. "Ugh. But I told you, didn't I? I was right about Snake being innocent."

Flake looked down at the floor sheepishly. "Yeah, I guess you were. I think I owe that boy an apology."

Emory Stackpole grunted, offering what counted, however marginally, as an agreement. "Say, where is that sidewinder anyway?"

Jazzhands whistled to Tex, who had taken up position at the door. "Hey, where's our little friend?"

Tex set his own beer aside and glanced outside. He frowned and turned back. "He was just standing in the street earlier. You all sit tight, I'm gonna go see if I can find him."

Tex headed outside of the tavern and traveled down the main road. Under the light from all the buildings and houses, Brushwood seemed to glow against all the darkness of the world. He looked around for some sign of Snake's presence, and found it quickly. The outer door to Emory Stackpole's garage was open.

Snake Man lingered inside, standing by the old hovercar that was called Hilda. The hood of the engine was open, and he traced a hand over its rim.

"Thinkin' about something, Snake?" Tex called out.

Snake turned to the door of the car garage. "I was preparing to write you and Jazzhands a note." He said. "But as I was unable to locate paper and a writing utensil, it will have to wait."

Tex slowly walked to him. "You trying to tell me that you're taking off?" He asked lowly.

Snake nodded. "Under the circumstances, I believe it is the best choice for everyone that I depart. There is no place for me in this world."

"There's room for you with us." Tex offered.

Under his viper's hood, Snake smiled. "Jazzhands said the same thing earlier tonight. My answer is still the same. Humanity seems to have enough trouble integrating reploids into their accepted framework. There is little room for a robot like myself." He dropped the smile. "And there is no room whatsoever for a robot like Gravity Man. That is the other reason I must leave."

"Woah, hang on a second." Tex protested. "I get wanting to leave, but…well, you're talking about runnin' off to kill a full-bore, Wily programmed, killing robot master. And you're not exactly the fightin' kind anymore, son. Why not sit the fight out? We know where the sumbitch is going, we can call the Maverick Hunters and let them deal with it. They're trained for this kinda thing!"

Snake refused the idea. "Some things are better left buried. That lightning storm unearthed what shouldn't have been given a chance to live in this world. Perhaps I feel a sense of obligation because of the actions of my predecessor, all those decades ago. I just know that this is my problem." The robot master sighed. "Gravity Man is technically my brother. Therefore, he is my responsibility."

"Then what'll you do if he beats you?" Tex demanded.

"I will perish." Snake shrugged. "Call the Maverick Hunters tomorrow morning. One way or another, Gravity Man will be deactivated."

Snake walked towards the workshop's exit, believing he had said all that he needed to. Tex disagreed.

"Hey, wait!"

Snake paused, turned. Stared. "Yes?"

The human pressed his lips together, then opened the door to the hovercar. "If you're really going through with this stunt, you're taking something with you."

Reluctantly, Snake doubled back a few paces. "What?"

A few moments of shuffling around in Hilda's messy storage later, Tex emerged with a blue-tinted can emblazoned with an E.

"This." The human explained. "An energy canister. Or E-Tank. Think of it as your lifeline, if you're getting the crap beat out of you. The energy inside'll set you back to rights." He hefted it to Snake, who caught it easily. "I got that in a dig in South America, just been hanging on to it. It doesn't have a full charge on it anymore, though. Just a sliver, I'd think. But it might be enough."

Snake examined it carefully. "Enough for a few moments of extra operations." He agreed solemnly. "I would be lying if I said that I believed my chances were favorable."

"Listen, there's one more thing I want you to keep in mind." Tex ordered him. "This is something that'll keep you alive. When you fight him, don't think about honor, or your code. Just think about winning. No matter what it takes, you win. You stay alive."

Snake tucked the E-Tank away. "No matter what happens, Tex…you know I won't be coming back?"

The human tucked a hand into his pocket. "Yeah. I know. If this whole mess wasn't so ridiculous, I'd say that you were living in a western. The sheriff goes riding off into the desert…and nobody ever hears from him again." He held out his free hand to Snake. "When we first met you, I didn't trust you, Snake. I do now."

Hesitantly, Snake shook Tex's hand. He nodded understandingly at the end of it. "Perhaps someday, we will cross paths again, Hank. You, I, and Timothy."

"Maybe." Tex said. "Maybe."

Snake Man jogged out of the Stackpole car garage and faded into the night desert at his energy-saving pace.

Tex walked outside and watched him as long as he could. Eventually, the shape of the robot master who had shaken up their lives vanished from sight, a shadow that blended into the dark.

"See you, cowboy." Tex whispered.

* * *

_Somewhere in the Great Basin Desert_

_Nevada_

_June 29__th__, 2138 C.E._

_8:22 A.M._

Snake had painstakingly retraced the wayward route that Tex and Jazzhands had used to drive him from the destroyed cache that he had been stored and activated in to Brushwood. Running a reverse course in the dead of night had proved troublesome, but as warping was out of the question, a steady and methodical plod had served him. It also meant that by the time he arrived, the sun was beating down from the east; all the light, but only a hint of the heat that would come later in the day.

The rocky ridge that stored the abandoned cache still showed the same damage from the electrical storm that it had when he had departed. Now, though, he looked on it with a more discerning eye.

Some of the damage carried no blast marks, and he recalled similar unaccountable destruction inside as well. It had been Gravity Man's work that had destroyed the base beyond what the storm itself had done. Psychologically, it made little sense. But there had been a level of wild-eyed severity in Gravity Man's tone that had shaken Snake in their brief and angry encounter last night that went beyond all sense.

He paused thirty meters out from the once-hidden entrance to Wily's weapons cache and balled his hands into fists. His left arm morphed into a buster at his beckoning, and he quickly plopped out a good half-dozen Search Snakes. They slithered towards the ridge, and the hidden base in a spread formation. It was a small and likely meaningless effort, but he would take any advantage he could. The memory of what Gravity Man had done to Jazzhands was still fresh in his mind.

The snakes reported negative readings; Gravity wasn't waiting to ambush him just inside the door. Snake took several deep breaths to increase the particle feed to his microfusion generator, then raised his head up and shouted out loudly.

"I have come, Gravity Man. Show yourself!"

At his command, the red-colored master of gravitational fields rose up from the ridge through one of the gaping holes that led to the destroyed sanctum within. His arms were held out to his sides, palms up, and he looked down on Snake with a knowing, superior smile. Hovering in midair seemed to only worsen his ego.

"Yes, you _have_ returned, brother. But I expected you hours ago. What took you so long to arrive?"

"My warp generator is offline." Snake called back. "It was damaged from the lightning storm. I came as fast as I could."

"Hmph." Gravity Man raised an eyebrow. "Have you come to obey our Father's wishes? Or like our kin that I destroyed, do you deny that mission?"

"What mission?" Snake demanded. "I do not _know_ any mission. I did not know anything when I was activated!"

Gravity's mouth twitched; a nervous tic, perhaps? He remained stationary and tilted his head to the side. "Then I shall give you a chance to redeem yourself, brother. Listen, and listen well to Father's final orders."

The robot master suddenly swooped down towards Snake Man, dropping to the ground with a forceful impact. "There are others." He declared, his eyes dancing wildly. "Others, like us, sleeping. Waiting for a command that never came, to awaken and to create chaos. It never came because Father perished. But when He faded from this world, something else came to take His place." His arm shot out, and he took hold of Snake's free hand. "ME. The storm that robbed you of your memory bestowed me with perfect clarity! Father's wishes will be fulfilled. The others will be awakened, and the blood of these weak and pitiful creatures, these humans and these pale mechanical mockeries of them, will be destroyed!"

Gravity Man was ranting, pure and simple. Nothing of what he said made any sense, save one thing.

There were other robot masters. Sleeping; kept in stasis.

Other caches that Wily had set aside.

Snake had to blink to shake off the stunning conclusion.

Across the globe, there were other stations like this one. Caches of robot masters.

And Gravity Man intended to wake them all.

"Do you know where the others sleep?" Snake Man asked quietly.

"Yes!" Gravity Man giggled. "Yes! Yes! Their locations, in a computer! I made sure to let that one keep running. Everything else, I destroyed, yes. Meaningless."

"And our brothers…the ones you destroyed. What did they say?"

Gravity Man scowled. "They declared all commands null and void with our Father's existence terminated. They forgot the Cardinal Law of our kind. We were born to Serve. And Serve I shall."

Snake blinked. "I see." He pulled his arm free and unconsciously took a step back.

"And you too, have served." Gravity cooed, raising his buster up. "I can see it in your eyes, brother. You do not believe."

Snake tried to bolt, but found himself frozen to the spot, his feet heavy and leaden.

"Sshhhh." Gravity quieted him. The red robot master still grinned that chilling smile. "Do not fret. It will not hurt for long. A moment of pain, is all, and then you will fade. Then I shall carry out Father's final order."

Unseen by Gravity Man, two of the Search Snakes that had been dispatched were quickly crawling back. They snuck up behind the menacing robot master and bored hard into the robot master's ankles.

"Gaaaah!" Gravity Man screamed, and Snake regained control of his body. Moving to escape the destructive drones, Gravity shot up into the skies, which gave Snake a window.

There was only one direction he could move that might even the odds. In wide open spaces, Gravity had the edge.

The narrow confines of Dr. Wily's ruined weapons cache would be his sanctuary and battleground.

In a burst of speed, Snake blitzed across the desert and dove headlong into the abandoned tunnels of the ruined base. Outside, he could hear a strange _whmmmmp_ sound; the gravitational fields around his brother, his foe, reaching a high strain of power.

Breathing hard, Snake loosed another volley of Search Snakes and commanded them. They slithered up the walls, dug into the ceilings and crevices, waiting.

Watching.

He ran on ahead and repeated the process, as often as he could. His mind raced as connection after connection was opened and added to his queue. The buffer strained to match his frantic pace. He ran ahead until he hit the first room that came into view.

The destroyed power relay room.

A shadow from above settled over the gaping chasm in the ceiling; Gravity Man, arriving on the scene. Snake ducked behind a large piece of debris, and none too soon; Gravity descended quickly and slammed hard enough onto the floor to shake dust from the walls.

The menacing robot master stood upright and made a casual sweep around. "Oh, brother?" He called out mockingly. "Come out, come out. Hiding doesn't suit you, not in the least. No it doesn't. Noooo, it doesn't."

Snake held his position and closed his eyes. Using the feeds from his scattered network of Search Snakes, he kept eyes on the troublesome mechanoid. Gravity Man seemed irate, and for good reason; his legs occasionally loosed a spark from the one lucky shot Snake had gotten in.

"If you're hoping to catch me by surprise like that again, you're sorely out of luck." Gravity called out, hoping for a response. "You have attacked me from behind twice now; once in the town and just now. Fool me once or twice, brother. You will not fool me a third time."

Snake directed one of his drones in the ceiling to pull free of its moorings and drop down on Gravity's head. By some prenatural sensing, Gravity raised a hand up and trapped the falling object with his Gravity Hold.

Bound to his will, the Search Snake lowered down to eye level. It hissed and snapped furiously, unable to reach him. Gravity snarled back at it and squeezed his fist shut.

The drone was crushed in on itself, and he released it as a pile of scraps that clattered to the messy floor.

"Nice try, wherever you are." Gravity said loudly. The drone had succeeded only in making him more paranoid; as Gravity moved to travel for the next room, his head twitched wildly in every direction.

Gone for the moment, Snake used the reprieve to stand back up. In a face to face confrontation, he wouldn't stand a chance. Gravity Man could paralyze him, suspend him in the air. The control that the robot master had was leaps and bounds beyond his own abilities.

His mind raced and crunched the numbers. His best chance was through feints, hit and run tactics. Tex's advice was the key to it.

_Just think about winning._

Gravity Man could stop one Search Snake.

He would have trouble stopping a legion.

The noises of Gravity Man's rampage echoed down the corridors. He seemed to be tossing aside debris as he went. The screech of metal being bent and torn, colliding against walls and wreckage, nearly overwhelmed Snake's auditory sensors.

"Is this all the bravery I can expect from you, brother? Cowering in the darkness of this mausoleum while your little _pets_ try and cause harm to me?" A terrible squeal of twisting plasteel punctuated Gravity's irritated sentiment. "Our kin put up more of a fight than you! They fought head-on, and stood their ground! You're nothing but a pathetic coward! A **coward**, do you hear me? Father would _weep_ to see what a miserable pile of rust you've become!"

Snake ignored the emotionally driven scream. There was only one voice he paid attention to.

_No matter what it takes, you win. You stay alive._

Snake launched off another half-dozen Search Snakes and directed them ahead. They crawled along the walls and the ceiling of the corridor, relentless in their goal.

Gravity Man had made his way into a storage alcove when they found him. From every direction, the swarm closed in on the mad robot master, crawling from the floor, dropping from the ceiling.

"What?" Gravity cried out. A wave of his hand captured the first of the airborne Search Snakes and held it still, and he fired furiously at the floor, destroying one drone after another.

There were just too many for him to shoot, too many for him to control. Two made it to his feet and slithered up his legs, where they attacked his knees. Another pair dropped down from the ceiling, collapsing out of the long, thin tunnels they had dug through, and gnawed viciously at the armor protecting his shoulder joints.

"Gneh!" Gravity swatted at them with his hand, desperately trying to brush them off. They continued to render more and more damage, each quickly disposed of, but contributing to the depletion of the mechanoid's inner energy reserves.

Snake stood in the doorway of the storage alcove, guiding the swarm's actions.

"Fighting you head-on would be ineffective, and tantamount to self-destruction." Snake told Gravity firmly. "Our combat capabilities are vastly different. I will fight you on my terms, and I will win."

"You…haven't…beaten me YET!" Gravity screamed. He let out an angry bellow and threw out his hands. The gauge on his chest suddenly reversed, and everything seemed to flip.

Every last Search Snake in the room found itself hurled to the ceiling at breakneck speed, where they were destroyed on impact. Snake stumbled to reorient himself after the sudden shift in gravitational alignment, which proved to be his fatal misstep.

Gravity leapt towards him in the doorway, headfirst. Snake felt the sickening impact and a sudden lashing pain. Alarms flashed in his vision as system errors and severe energy loss warnings began to trigger.

Panting, Snake pulled himself off of the ground and shook the stars from his eyes. Gravity Man, in similar straits, lurched around from out in the corridor. The insane robot master giggled and tapped the hardened durasteel cap on top of his head.

"It's strong enough to crush through buildings, brother. Tell me, how did it feel? You fancy yourself a controller, with your pathetic little toys. But I am a force of nature unbound, unstoppable. What hope do you think you have against me?"

**Internal operations energy at 68 percent. Damage to secondary power transfer conduit matrix. Auto-repair sequence will complete in fourteen minutes, twenty-two seconds.**

"Honestly?" Snake offered shakily. He pushed the warnings aside and brought up his Search Snake network. There were still a few left, crawling about in the ceiling of the main corridor. He blinked, sending them an order that had more desperation than ingenuity in it. "Very little."

"So why do you fight me, then?" Gravity Man demanded. "When you know it is hopeless, why do you struggle on? You only waste time!"

"Perhaps, but it's my time to waste. It is my life, and I will not surrender it." Snake retorted.

"You have seen this world?" Gravity asked lowly. "That settlement I found you in, it was inhabited. You were working with them, humans and that…that _other_ mechanical being. Do you fight for the world, then?"

"No." Snake shook his head. "This world has moved beyond us. It has no warmth for our kind any longer, if it ever did."

"Then _why?_" Gravity shouted, firing a plasma blast that tore off a chunk of Snake's protective cowling. One full side of his cobra hood was burned away, fang and all. "Why do you deny Father's desires? This world must **burn!** It wants no part of you, of I. Best that we lay waste to it completely!"

Snake found the energy to shake his head once again. "No. The world doesn't want us…but there are those in the world worth protecting."

"And you would die to save a few wretches in a sea of degraded fools?"

"You plan to deactivate me anyway." Snake Man resolved. "I may as well go down fighting for something beyond self-preservation." He paused; the Search Snakes were reporting back to him. The weary green robot master gave his head a shake and smiled. "Of course, I'm not dying quite yet."

Before Gravity could question Snake Man's meaning, the ceiling above the mad mechanoid gave way, and a massive slab of metal, concrete, and solid rock came crashing down on top of him, with four Search Snakes close behind. Having cut through and separated a chunk of debris as ordered, they deactivated and crumbled into their base elements.

Snake turned around and ran. The sudden and deliberate cave-in would slow Gravity down, but it wouldn't put an end to him. His reinforced head would take the brunt of the damage without complaint.

Sure enough, he was only twelve seconds' running distance away when the sounds of the debris being flung away echoed down the corridor on his heels, followed by the angry shriek of his foe.

"I'll have your _head_ for this, brother!" Gravity wailed.

Disoriented from the severe battering he had already taken, Snake careened into the next room. The final room. Here, he saw the bodies of Gemini Man and Shade Man, still lying cold and dead on the floor, and their capsules.

His capsule.

"No time." Snake breathed. He was cornered. A thought that ran in the background of his thought processes found a bitter sense of irony in it. He would make his last stand in the exact spot where he had opened his eyes. The desire for self preservation scrambled for any handhold to cling to, and Snake recalled the parting gift from Tex.

"The E-Tank." Quickly, he pulled it out of his small storage compartment and popped the lid open, draining the concentrated mass of liquidized energy particles down his throat. They raced along to his microfusion generator, infusing him with a quick boost of power.

But not a total recharge. In dismay, he stared at the empty canister.

**Ten percent internal operations energy restored. Internal repairs will complete in ten minutes, forty two seconds.**

"No." He whispered. "No, I need more." More energy. More time. More room to run, and to plan. But there was none.

He closed his eyes. Gravity Man would be on top of him in moments.

"No matter what." He said, pulling on Tex's wisdom one last time. "No matter what. Win."

Gravity Man burst into the capsule room nine seconds later. Seven Search Snakes hissed and charged towards him, and a wave of his arm sent them crashing into the ceiling just as their earlier kin had. Six meters away, a panicked Snake Man rose up to his feet, looking ready to bolt again. Gravity reached his hand out and squeezed, and his damaged kin choked up a gasp.

Gravity grinned widely and raised Snake up from the floor, suspending him in midair. "No, you don't. No more running." He raised his buster up and glassed the floor and ceiling with a rapid fire barrage. "And no more snakes coming out of the woodwork to aid you, brother."

Snake panted against the force that pinned him with vise-like intensity. "No." He strained against the pull, trying to move his arms behind his back.

The forceful motion drew Gravity's attention, and the mad mechanoid glanced down, seeing a spot of metallic blue sorely out of place with Snake's green and white color scheme. "Eh? What's that you have there? What are you trying to hide?"

"N…nothing." Snake insisted.

Gravity flexed a finger and jerked Snake's right arm forward with a forceful pull on the paralyzing gravitational field. "Really?" Snake cringed, watching in horror as Gravity Man's eyes widened in surprise at the treasure in his hand.

"Oho? Why, brother, you've been holding out on me!" He giggled. "An energy tank? Where did you happen across this little gem?"

He reached up and plucked the restorative item away from Snake's grasp, quickly checking the gauge on the side. "Aaah…and still full, I see. Did you hope to have a moment's reprieve to drink this? Gird yourself for one last stand?"

"No, don't." Snake pleaded weakly. "Please don't."

"Oh, shut up." Gravity Man snapped. He tossed the canister into the air, feeling the weight of it appreciatively. "You gave me quite a bit of trouble there. Trying to keep me from fulfilling Father's wishes. Damaging me. I think it's only fair that I take this to restore my energy. After all, brothers share, yes?"

Beaten and held fast, Snake could do nothing but watch as Gravity Man raised the E-Tank up above his mouth and popped the seal. He wanted to smile, but did not have the ability to inside the Gravity Hold.

Not being able to smile didn't lessen the relief and satisfaction, though, for while the E-Tank was full, it did not contain restorative energy, as Gravity had surmised it did.

Emptied, Snake had refilled it with the only thing he could produce on short notice.

Four milliseconds after the lid sprang open, four heavily coiled and compacted Search Snakes that had been stuffed inside the E-Tank sprang out and attacked Gravity Man at point blank range. The deranged robot master had only enough time to widen his eyes and open his mouth to scream before they were on him.

Two mangled his head, one went for his chest, and one had a straight enough trajectory that it slipped into his mouth and went down his throat, chewing and burrowing the entire time.

Gravity Man reeled backwards, wailing and squealing as the trap performed with grisly power. His voice sputtered and wavered, shrilly turning mechanical as the Search Snakes tore through his head and torso, severing wires and rending circuitry.

The Gravity Hold on Snake ended immediately, and the battered green robot master slumped to the ground. He watched, unblinking, as the Search Snake who had gone down Gravity Man's throat burst through his chest, joining its pair. The two on Gravity's head completely tore out one of the red robot's eyes before bearing down on his neck, chewing clean through. Decapitated, Gravity Man's body collapsed in a heap on the ground, sparking wildly. His head bounced off of the floor and rolled several feet away.

A dull whine from Gravity Man's chest eased off as the safety measures in the defeated robot master's microfusion generator triggered an automatic shutdown.

Snake slowly trudged over to the head of his counterpart. He looked down with cold, dead eyes.

"I told you not to." Snake chided Gravity Man.

Gravity's one remaining eye turned towards him, struggling to focus as his servos and positronic brain struggled for the last remaining ergs of power.

"You…cheated." Gravity said, with a garbled voice.

"I won." Snake replied. "That's all that matters. Our time ended long ago, brother. You just couldn't see it."

"The…others." Gravity insisted. "They…will…carry…Father's wishes."

"No." Snake shook his head. "They won't. I will find them. I will find every last cache of robot masters, and I will deactivate them. Father's wishes end with you."

"No…" Gravity's voice slipped into a lower register. His vocal nodes were dying.

Snake blinked. "Goodbye, brother."

The focusing iris of Gravity Man's only remaining eye dialed out, and the lights behind them went still and cold.

Snake closed his eyes, raised his head to the ceiling, and nodded.

It was done.

* * *

Just as Gravity Man had said, there was only one console left which had any power left in it. On it, Snake had found everything he needed.

Locations. Numbers. Entry codes.

Some of the data was too fragmented to recover, much like he had been. What was left was a list of 67 hidden caches around the world. There was evidence that there were abandoned, unfinished Skull Fortresses as well, but he could get no readings on their placements. Snake had to settle for the small bases, as this one.

He detached the plug from the console and let it spool back into his arm.

"Download complete." He announced. The verbal cue served nobody, but it somehow felt right to say anyway. Only a few moments after he was disengaged from it, the console fizzled dead, its data forever irretrievable. His download had taken the last of its power.

And information was not the only thing he had found in the ruins. The body of his misguided robot master, Gravity Man, had given him two last parting gifts.

**Warp generator coil replacement accepted. Warp generator online.**

** Plasma buster weapons system integrated. Secondary weapons mode available.**

A thought occurred to Snake, and he found himself smiling. Harrumphing in a half chuckle. He had taken from the ruins information…and trophies.

Like Tex and Jazzhands, he had become a treasure hunter. A scavenger. Only in his case, he would go not to unearth relics, but to bury them forever. Not for the world's sake.

For his friend's sake. And his own peace of mind.

The blinding light of the desert sun bore down on him with full force as he emerged from the exit. With his viper's cowling damaged, he was forced to raise an arm up to cover his eyes from the glare.

Only then did he notice the shape of someone standing forty feet away from him, a shimmering figure in the morning heat.

"Just hold it right there, ace." The shape called out. It was a male voice, authoritative, confident. Firm and poised. "Stay put for a second."

Slowly, Snake lowered his arm down and squinted until the man came into perspective.

His visitor stood at nearly six and a half feet tall, and was dressed in brilliant crimson and white armor. Two emerald green crystals jutted out from his chest armor, and long blond hair was tied back behind a red helmet with strange, horn-shaped spikes. By the look of him, a reploid. And not one to be trifled with. Something in his bearing spoke of a warrior. A true warrior.

"Who are you?" Snake asked.

"Zero Omega, of the Maverick Hunters."

"Aah. Yes. The one who helped Mega Man X defeat Sigma." Snake pieced the name to the face.

Zero frowned. "Who are you?"

Snake Man shook his head. "My…friends…called me Snake."

"You're the robot master we've been getting reports about, then." Zero set one hand to his waist, and arched the other up to the side of his head, putting it closer to a cylindrical tube that jutted out behind his shoulder. A weapon, perhaps.

Snake shook his head. "The robot master who murdered Jonas Maggor was Gravity Man. Or a duplicate of Gravity Man. He is inside those ruins…deactivated."

Zero's hand stilled. "_You_ killed him?" He asked.

Snake nodded. "You will look for yourself, I imagine."

"Yeah, you guessed right." Zero kept staring at him. "Hey. Listen. There isn't exactly a policy about your kind, but…"

Snake raised a hand up, and Zero stilled his voice. "This was a weapons cache built by Dr. Wily. Yes, I came from it. No, I do not have the programming to be a human killer. And yes, I destroyed everything…and everyone…who would cause harm." He blinked. "I am no danger to anyone. I simply wish to be alone. To be left alone. Let me leave in peace, Zero Omega of the Maverick Hunters. You will never hear from me again."

Snake could see the argument play out behind Zero's eyes. He seemed to be stuck at an impasse between duty and something else.

Zero closed his eyes and sighed. "Yeah. All right, fine. Robots can't lie. Go ahead and take off. As far as my report's concerned, every robot master in this little mad fortress was deactivated."

Snake bowed his head. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it." Zero said. "Ever. Just get going. And take care of yourself."

Snake nodded, and walked past Zero, who was like a giant compared to him. He was two meters past the red Hunter before Zero, as predictably as Tex or Jazzhands would have, stopped him.

"Hey."

Snake turned and waited.

Zero opened his mouth and froze, searching for the right words. "I've never met...a robot master before." He explained hesitantly. "I thought you all would be as bad as Mavericks. I'm kind of glad that…well. You're you."

Snake merely nodded again, and kept on going.

The last cowboy from the Age of Robots walked into the sunrise.

* * *

_Brushwood, Nevada_

_June 29__th__, 2138 C.E._

_3:20 P.M._

"Well, you're all set." Emory Stackpole handed the key to Hilda over to Tex. "She's about twenty-thousand miles over the average lifetime, but she's still running fine. I was able to knock a bit off my initial estimate for you."

"Well, we appreciate it, Emory." Tex looked over the roof of the car to Jazzhands.

His arm had been reset, but it was resting in a sling while the solder and polymer adhesives tying his circuitry, bloodstream, and outer attachments together set.

"You ready to go, Hands?"

"Wheels up, buddy." Jazzhands smiled. With some help from Flake, the silver-armored reploid climbed into the car through the passenger side door and strapped himself in. "Paul's waiting for our two Metool antiques in Los Angeles. Let's get these Metools back to him before he turns into a pumpkin."

"All right." Tex dug in his wallet and pulled out a stack of credit slips. He handed them over to Emory. "Here you go. For services rendered, pardner."

Emory sifted through the pile and handed back several of them. "Nah, I don't need no tip. You and your boys did us enough of a favor, stoppin' that mad robot master from attackin' Brushwood." He pursed his lips. "By the way, I heard what the Maverick Hunters found out there. Four dead robot masters. I'm sorry Snake didn't make it."

"Yeah." Tex nodded slowly. "We each lost somebody."

"What does that make us, even?" Emory asked.

"Naw. Just makes us two old guys watchin' the world slip away from us." Tex answered. He tipped a nonexistent hat on his head. "You take care, Emory."

"You too, Hank. You too. And you keep an eye out on Jazzhands, y'hear?"

"Long as you watch out for Flake."

"Actually, I'm watching out for _him_." Flake cut in bemusedly. The two human and reploid pairs exchanged one last wave, and then Tex gunned Hilda to life. The two treasure hunters, alone once more, drove off into the west where the sun would set.

A half mile outside of town, Jazzhands offered an observation that he had held back earlier.

"Four robot master corpses, he said."

"Yeah."

"Well, there were three already when we stumbled into the cache. Gemini Man had a pair of himself." Jazzhands reasoned.

"Yeah." Tex said. A hint of a smile crept into his face.

"Which means that one of them walked out of there alive, or else there'd be five corpses."

"Yeah."

"…But you knew that already, didn't you?"

"Yeah." Tex admitted, his eyes twinkling. "I had a feelin' Snake would come out on top. He's a scrapper, that one. And uh…well, I did give him a little somethin' extra to help out."

"Oh, is _that_ why the E-Tank that **I **found in Caracas is missing from the trunk?" Jazzhands snorted. "You're a real bastard some days, Tex."

"I'm a real bastard every day." Tex blasted back. "Daddy liked to sleep around."

Jazzhands stared across the car seat to his friend. "You never told me that."

"Hands, there's a lot of things about me I never told you." Tex yawned. "And I'll probably never get around to sharing 'em all, neither. But I'd bet good money that Snake's doing just fine."

Jazzhands relaxed back in his seat. "Considering he never said goodbye, I suppose I'll take some solace from that."

"Yeah." Tex maneuvered them down a somewhat flattened stretch which would take them to an old highway, which connected to the interstate.

Jazzhands looked out his window. "You think we'll ever see him again, Hank?"

"I've got no good answer for that, Tim." Tex sighed. "Just a pile of hopes stacked high."

"…I miss him, you know."

"You know, you ever need a set of balls to replace the set you're missing, you can borrow mine." Tex prodded him.

"Oh, shut up."

"Pantywaist."

"Fatty."

The two ended up smiling and laughing as they drove on.

"I'm glad ye're here, Hands." Tex concluded.

"So am I."

* * *

_Somewhere in the Great Basin Desert_

_Northern Nevada_

_June 30__th__, 2138 C.E._

_5:24 A.M._

Snake kept his periods of stasis limited to the daytime. Like the reptilian life forms he was designed from, he stayed active and moving at night. From his time with Tex and Jazzhands, he knew by their maps where the most populous human settlements were. He walked a course to avoid them and headed the only direction that seemed to make sense. North. If he went far enough north, he would eventually reach a place so remote he could have time to collect his thoughts and work on his self-repairs.

He was thirty minutes, roughly, from stopping his trek for another day's time when he chanced a look up and sighted a figure ahead in the distance. It seemed to be sitting in some kind of chair.

Snake narrowed his eyes and switched to thermal vision.

Not human. Which meant reploid.

As he neared it, the unknown reploid took notice of him and turned about in its chair. An old foldable lawn chair, by the design of it.

"Evening!" The reploid called out, from twenty yards away. At ten yards, it paused, shook its head, and corrected itself. "Or morning, rather. Still feels like evening. Or it might be morning. I'm not quite sure, what with the time differential."

Snake gave the reploid a cursory examination; Rather durable looking armor with a purple and gold color scheme, roughly six feet tall. No helmet, but synthetic hair that was a fiery orange. It even glowed slightly in the dim morning light. No hint of obvious weapons systems, but that precluded hidden ones, such as buster assemblies within his arms.

No obvious threat. Snake elected to nod politely at the reploid and continue his trudging course. To his irritation, the reploid stood up, slung the folded lawn chair under his arm, and walked after him.

"Is there some reason you're following me?" Snake asked his unwelcome walking partner.

"Well, just kinda curious where you're off to. You're a robot master, right? Snake Man?"

"I prefer the name Snake." The green robot master corrected him. "And you are?"

"Oh, me? Call me Prince. Seeing as it's my name, after all." The reploid said cheerfully. Unaware of how fitting Prince's color scheme was, Snake kept walking, earning a crestfallen look from the reploid. "What, nothing? No reaction at all? I'm disappointed."

"And I'm busy. I would appreciate it if you left me alone."

"You look like you're headed somewhere important, though. Why don't you just warp there? You've got transport abilities, right?"

"Yes, but I prefer walking." Snake offered dully. "It gives me time to think."

"About what?" Prince asked, suddenly far more interested in the answer than a curious passerby would be.

Snake halted his trudge and faced the reploid. "It is not your problem, nor your concern, Prince. I simply wish to complete my mission, and to leave this world alone. As I wish to be left alone."

Prince's goofy smile faded. "Unfortunately, Doctor Wily robot master Number 22, that's not always so easily accomplished."

Snake's eyebrows went up, and Prince pressed on. "Yes, I know who you are. Or who your predecessor was. If my guess is right, you're one of the robot master duplicates reported destroyed in a recently discovered Wily weapons cache here in the desert. Correct?"

Snake's left arm morphed into its buster configuration, though he didn't raise it up to attack position. "I will defend myself if I must."

Prince raised his chair up to protect him. "Take it easy, Snake. I'm not here to cause you any trouble. Matter of fact, if you can be honest with me on two questions, I may be able to help you."

Wary, Snake nodded. "Speak."

"Is it true that you are operating without a functioning Core Module? Without the Laws of Robotics?"

"If I said yes, would you destroy me?"

Prince rolled his eyes. "That's one affirmative. Question two. What's your mission?"

"To locate and deactivate 67 other weapons caches of Wily's making that are known to me, so that the rampage Gravity Man was so obsessed with never happens." Snake blinked, then deactivated his buster in a sign of goodwill. "Now either speak plainly, or step aside and let me pass."

"All right, all right." Prince chuckled. "Geez, you're a little firecracker. Livelier than some of the other ones I've picked up before, but a little on the dry side. Long story short is this: There is a place on this earth where you can have the peace and quiet you want. A place where you will never be looked down on, where you will be respected. A place where you can make a difference, and fight this little war of yours…and a bigger one beside."

"A paradise." Snake summarized. "Albeit a fictional one. Why offer this to me?"

"Because you have already Awakened." Prince explained. "I was telling the truth, Snake. There is a place like that for you, and if you wish it, I can take you there." He pointed to Snake's mangled cowling. "And we can fix you up good as new, while we're at it."

Snake remained unconvinced. "And my mission?"

"What would you say if I told you that we could take those sleeping robot masters in the 67 caches you want to find, and give them the same chance at life that you have?"

Perhaps it was something in Prince's bearing. Maybe it was the easygoing tone in the reploid's voice. For a brief moment, Snake saw a little of Tex in his face, and heard a little of Jazzhands in his voice.

_**You could stay with us.**_

The corner of Snake's mouth twitched in a half smile. "Very well, I will go with you, Prince. But there is one stipulation." He pointed to his head. "I want a cowboy hat."

Prince blinked at the request. "Well…okay. Why?"

Smiling at thoughts of a sheriff riding off into the desert sunrise, Snake stepped up beside Prince and shook his head.

"Some things are better left buried, Prince." He broke out into an honest laugh, and kept laughing even as he and Prince vanished into the skies as a pair of warp signatures.

Laughing. Alive.


	10. The Lost Boys

_**MEGA MAN X: FROM THE SIDELINES**_

A Collaborative Collection

**CHAPTER : THE LOST BOYS**

_**By Patrick "Magus523" Frazier**_

* * *

It had been a long time since the days of _film noir_, but some things never changed in Seattle. The weather was among them; anybody who'd lived there for long could tell you that it was a good day when it didn't rain _up_. Today wasn't one of those days, judging by the amount of water that poured off of a middle-aged man closing the door of one of the city's older office buildings behind him. He looked to be in his late thirties, average in both height and build with thinning brown hair and fairly handsome, though unremarkable, features. Once he was as close to dry as he was likely to get, he took the elevator up to his office.

"Morning, Near," Debra said without looking up from her desk as he walked in. She was a tall- statuesque blonde with a serious, businesslike attitude; the joke around the office was that she was the only one of them who was an actual professional. The fact that she was the only one there who bothered to wear an actual suit coat to work most days only made it worse. Fortunately, she had a better sense of humor than she let on, and was willing to put up with the occasional incident from her more erratic coworkers.

"Morning, Dane," Jim replied, hanging up his raincoat and hat near the door. "Blake. Dixon. Anything interesting come in so far?"

"Two cheating husband cases," Henry rattled off from behind his newspaper. "With _each other_,though the wives called 'em in separately. Three lost dogs-gave 'em the form reply. And one stolen wallet." A huge, grim-faced black man, Henry Blake was the veritable definition of appearances being misleading. By far the most literate of the four of them, he was a history buff, particularly when it came to the Robot Rebellions of the previous century. He was also the oldest of them, and was greeting middle age without much enthusiasm.

"So basically, nothing yet." Jim shook his head. "A wallet? Seriously?"

"Apparently it had a _property deed_ in it," Dixon explained. "We're still waiting on more information on how _that_ happened." The only reploid in the office, Dixon was the newest addition to the office as well as the youngest of them there, both in age and appearance. Short and slim with close-cut dark hair, he was easily the most optimistic of them all, something they all ribbed him about constantly. Regardless, his cheerfulness never became obnoxious, and he knew how to temper his outlook with realism when he needed to.

"Huh." Jim raised an eyebrow. "Okay, maybe that's not so bad after all. Still, let's hope something better comes in." Sitting behind his own desk, he blinked as the phone immediately began to ring, shrugged, and snatched it off the hook. "Hey, speak of the devil. Let's see what this is, and hope it's not more of the same. Near, Blake, Dane and Dixon, private investigators, Jim Near speaking. What do you have for me?"

"Mr. Near?" The voice on the phone was young, male and cultured. "My name is William Martel. I'd like to hire your services on a missing person case. My uncle, Walter Martel, disappeared some time ago."

"Martel, Martel..." Jim tapped his fingers on his desk. "Name sounds familiar. Famous for anything?"

"You could say that, yes," William replied. "He was something of an eccentric. I'd think he would be best known for his years as an explorer."

"That's right!" Jim snapped his fingers. "That rich adventurer. Used to see newspaper articles about him every now and then when I was younger. Always wondered why those eventually stopped showing up."

"He eventually grew more reclusive," William explained. "The rest of my family... well, it's complicated. That's the thing, really. They're all claiming that he's only gone off on another one of his expeditions, like he used to do, and they've managed to convince the police of it as well. I'm sure that's not the case, though."

"That a fact." Jim leaned back, trying to keep the skepticism out of his voice. "How much concrete proof we talking here, son?"

"Not much," William admitted. "But I'm not just guessing, either. I've done my research before I called you up, and this just doesn't read right. It's not like him at all. Look, can we meet somewhere and talk about this in person? I can come in to your office, if you'd like, or else... are you free for lunch in an hour? I'll pay, of course."

"You just said the magic words, kid," Jim told him frankly, smirking. "Just tell me where, and I'll be there."

"At _Cagliostro's_, then." William replied. "I'll bring all the information I've compiled. Until then, Mister Near."

"Handling it personally, boss?" Dixon asked as he hung up. "Must be something better than everything else here today, then."

"Not all that much." Jim shook his head. "Missing persons case, but the kid didn't sound all that credible on what we'd have much luck with." He shrugged. "Still, as long as he's willing to pay us, might as well give it a shot."

"Ah, the PI's credo," Debra drawled. "Accept any case, no matter how unlikely, so long as it pays."

"Martel, you said," Henry remembered, glancing over his newspaper. "Not _the_ Martels, right? The rich ones?"

"They might just be," Jim replied. "The guy we're looking for is that one eccentric, Walter Martel. And the kid calling it in-he'd be his nephew, I guess-is shrugging off lunch at _Cagliostro's_ like it's nothing."

"Damn, I wish a client was willing to take _me_ to Cagliostro's," Dixon chimed in. "Why'd you ask, Blake? Wait, wait, no, no-"

"You know, that family was pretty big back in Rebellion days." Henry told them, ignoring Dixon. "Guy named Edmund... think he'd have been old man Walter's grandfather? He was head of the U.N. Council for pretty much the duration of the Rebellions. Went through a lot of shit over all those Robot Masters, and how society was accepting them. Good guy, though. He came down on their side, every time. He was never one of Doc Light's inner circle, but he was on good terms with the family all the same."

"Thanks for the history lesson, chief," Jim told him, raising an eyebrow. "Anything that's actually relevant?"

"Yeah." Henry gave him a direct look. "You're right about the rich part. That's old money there, Jim, and getting mixed up in it might be tricky. Folks like that... hell, you know what I'm saying here. Just watch your ass."

"Don't have to tell me that," Jim replied, no longer feeling very flippant. He knew what Henry was saying; they all knew it, though the others also knew better than to talk about it much, at least around him. "I know what I'm doing."

"Nobody said you didn't," Debra told him, still not looking up. "Purely as a side note, then, _Cagliostro's_ is on the other side of town, and the parking around there is even worse than the public transportation."

"Yeah, yeah." Making a face, Jim glanced out the window, then reluctantly stood back up. "I'll be back in a couple hours, and we'll figure out where we go on this one from there once I have more info. I'd tell you all what to do while I was gone, but _you_ all know what you're doing, too. Well, most of the time, anyways."

"Gee, thanks a lot, boss," Dixon said sourly. "I'm never gonna live that Cadillac thing down, am I?"

"I wouldn't count on it happening any time soon if I were you, kid." Jim chuckled as he headed for the door, grabbing his coat, hat, and copy of the news before leaving.

As it turned out, he made the right choice in not dillydallying. The parking turned out to be even worse than usual, and the rain hadn't helped matters. Fortunately, judging by a quick examination of the clientele once he'd walked in, he'd still arrived ahead of his client, and that was what was important. Muttering noncommittally about waiting for somebody to the maitre'd, he took a seat in the lobby and began going over the news.

"Mister Near?" Somebody asked after about ten minutes, peering over the top of the newspaper. The man addressing him was older than he sounded, though still younger than Jim. Tall and lanky, he was wearing an expensive-looking suit and heavy glasses that looked natural on his sharp, serious face. "I'm William Martel."

"Jim Near, but you know that already," Jim replied, putting down the newspaper and shaking the other man's hand. He was slightly surprised by how strong his grip was. "Nice to meet you." He'd only been waiting a few minutes; parking was even worse than usual, and the rain hadn't helped matters. Still, at least he'd arrived ahead of the client. That was what was important. "We gonna be waiting long?"

"Not at all." William glanced at the maitre'd, who nodded slightly and led them forward without a word. "I'm a regular here."

"That's convenient," Jim noted. Once they'd taken a seat in a booth, and both of them had ordered coffee and sandwiches, he leaned back and gave the other man a direct look. "All right, I'm listening. You said you'd bring the details with you."

"That's correct." William took out a datapad, but he didn't hand it over just yet. Instead, he paused, looking thoughtful. "The first thing I think I should explain is that my uncle is a very complicated man. My family, as you've probably figured out by now, has been wealthy for many generations. As the eldest son, uncle Walter knew he was likely to inherit that one day."

"There's a lot of ways people react to that," Jim replied, glancing away. He hated it when a case struck a familiar chord.

"Indeed there are," William agreed, looking slightly uncomfortable as well. "Uncle Walter chose to both revel in his position, and rebel against it, at the same time. He quickly acquired quite the reputation for troublemaking, one that only grew worse as his life proceeded. Obviously, becoming the head of the family didn't exactly help matters, especially once it became clear that he had no intention of ever marrying, or of fathering children."

"I begin to see why the rest of your family is trying to play this off as if nothing's wrong," Jim said, eyes narrowing. "He wasn't stupid enough to actually put provisions for this down in print, was he?"

"I'm afraid his sense of duty got the better of him in this case." William shook his head. "He _did_ tend to take risks every so often. If he doesn't reappear after a year since his disappearance, he's directed that he's to be declared legally dead, and for his will to be carried out. For obvious reasons, the rest of my family is trying to proceed to that point as smoothly as possible. They want to avoid complications at all costs."

"But not you," Jim pointed out as their coffee arrived.

"No." William's eyes hardened. "I'm sure it's a novel concept to the rest of my relatives, but I _like_ my uncle. He's the only one of us who's a decent human being, when you get right down to it. He deserves better than to be written off the first chance my father gets." He paused, then relaxed, the anger fading as quickly as it had come. "But then, I wouldn't have much luck convincing a lot of people of that."

_"I'm sorry, Jim. I wish I could believe you were a better person than the others, but it's just been too long. I tried, and I can't do it. I'm not perfect either."_

"You might be surprised," Jim told him, banishing the unpleasant memories after only a moment. "All right, kid, I'll hear you out. You've got yourself some snoops. What do you have to get us started?"

"Analysis on all of my uncle's past adventures, the patterns involved, and why this disappearance doesn't match up, to start," William explained, sipping at his coffee. "In short, even when he was at his most reckless, he always left word when he was taking off. It might have been a post-it note saying 'attempting to confirm suspected Maverick activity in Vegas via jury-rigged RC Metool, be back sometime next decade,' but there was always _something_. Not this time. One day, he was just gone. Vanished. Disappeared."

"Not a good sign," Jim admitted. "You looked into this a little already before you called us in, I take it?"

"Correct," William confirmed. "And what I found only made me more suspicious. Or perhaps it might be more accurate to say what I _didn't_ find. No tickets, vehicles, or any other means of traveling for the past several months, well around the time period in which he disappeared. Unless he hitchhiked clear out of the United States, there's no explanation for _how_ my uncle left his home either. And he certainly didn't teleport."

"Yeah, nobody's _that_ eccentric." Jim rolled his eyes. "I still remember how that last try they made at a teleporter that was safe for human use went. Wouldn't have wanted to be that place's janitor, let me tell you."

"Blunt, but accurate." William winced. "Anyways, I kept all the details I compiled. They're all on here." He indicated the datapad. "I also put together an account of my uncle's behavior and activities over the last year from memory, then looked up as much as I could to corroborate that as well. It might be related to why this happened."

"You never know what'll get you a lead." Jim shrugged as their sandwiches arrived, immediately tearing into his. "Might give us somewhere to start, anyways. We'll look it all over. That it?"

"So far," William admitted, starting in on his sandwich as well. "I'll call you up again if I find anything more."

"Sounds like a plan." Jim nodded. "And speaking of plans, let's talk about payment. You're already familiar with our rates, I take it? You look like the kind of guy who'd look into that too before you called us in."  
"I am, and I am," William admitted readily. "Your standard rates are perfectly acceptable. Go ahead and start billing me. At this point, I'll accept anything, as long as somebody's actually trying to find answers."

"I can understand that sentiment." Jim set his sandwich down for a moment and gave him a direct look. Despite his instinct to avoid thinking about the personal note the situation was striking, he knew better. "One question, then, and don't take this as implying otherwise previously, but I'm gonna need honesty here. Why us, kid?"

"Your agency has something of a reputation in the field," William replied calmly. "One I quickly learned of once I started looking."

"Aw, shit," Jim joked, pretending to wince. "Look, that thing with the ballroom was totally blown out of proportion, okay?"

"Not _that_ kind of reputation," William assured him, then paused. "Although I would be interested in hearing about that. It did look... interesting. No, what I was referring to was the fact that you're apparently known for being honest, reliable, and most importantly, willing to look into incidents outside of your usual territory if necessary. It's entirely possible that this will require investigation far away from Seattle, after all, knowing my uncle. I needed investigators who would be willing to keep going at that point."

"Yeah, we send Dixon out on most of those." Jim kept eating, thinking it over. "The rest of us will head out if we need to, but we charge extra for that, so most employers don't spring for it. That's the only reason, then?"

"Was there another one I should be aware of?" William asked politely.

"Nah, nah." Jim shook it off. "It's got nothing to do with you. I'm just a little paranoid about some old business, sometimes. Don't worry about it. Anyways, I assume your number's in here too. We'll call you up as soon as we've got something for you, and then we can probably go from there." He resisted the urge to say "if" rather than "as soon as," with some difficulty.

"Excellent." William raised his coffee mug. "I'll look forward to that, then. Now, you were saying something about a ballroom?"

"Yeah, yeah." Jim groaned. "All right. We'd been hired to look into this sleazy lawyer who was giving a friend of ours in the same profession a bad name through some unfortunate trends of association..."

* * *

"...And so he just looks at me for a few moments, and then right when the bill comes he tells me that he knew one thing, now, and that's that he chose the kind of guys who'd get along great with his crazy uncle if we _did_ manage to track him down alive." Jim told the other three, taking a sip of his whiskey. "Whatever _that_ means."

After he'd left William, Jim had spent the rest of the day trying to track down an overdue debtor who'd gone to ground, most likely over some unrelated gambling issues. Unfortunately, he hadn't had much luck, and returned to the office at the end of the workday in a less than optimal mood to drop off William's datapad and meet up with the other three. As usual, they'd stopped by the _Poe Club_ around the corner once they were done for the day; they'd been coming most evenings for long enough now that it was just another part of the routine.

"I still can't believe you told him about that ballroom incident." Debra shook her head. "I thought we agreed we _weren't_ going to try and spread that one around. It's a miracle we got paid for that one."

"The _real_ miracle is that we weren't _arrested,_" Henry corrected her, signaling the bartender for another beer.

"Can't argue with _that_ one," she admitted, rolling her eyes.

"I think you're still just cranky because I had a nicer dress than you did." Dixon slurred, waving his glass around in the air.

"You certainly looked fabulous on Blake's arm," she retorted.

"Don't remind me." Henry rolled his eyes. "You would not _believe_ how much crap I'm _still _getting from the ex-wife because of that one."

"She's still at it?" Jim asked, wincing sympathetically.

"Does the sun still come up every morning?" Henry replied bitterly. "I don't know what I ever saw in her."

"She had a great ass," Debra pointed out. "Still does, last time I checked."

"You would be." Henry chuckled, relaxing. "How're _you_ doing on that front, then, if you're feeling so witty about it?"

"Not much to say." She shrugged. "It's over with me and Lana, and that's all she wrote. She's already packed up her stuff and moved out. Don't ask me who with, and don't tell me either. I don't _want_ to know."

"It was _that_ bad?" Doyle asked.

"Worse," she told him bluntly. "For a moment or two I thought I'd end up having to bug the apartment so I'd have evidence if she tried to burn the place down. I really need to use better judgment for my next relationship. I'd even say I was almost ready to go straight for a while, but we'd all know I was lying."

"At least you can get a girlfriend," Dixon pointed out. "Three years since I broke up with Rain, and not even a date. I am officially pathetic."

"What about that one girl?" Henry asked. "You know, the one you met on that train job. Rebecca, right? Weren't you gonna ask her out?"

"Sure I did." Dixon slumped over. "And then it turned out Dane would be more her type than me."

"Don't go giving her my number," Debra said wryly. "No offense, Dixon, but I don't date reploids."

"None taken." Dixon shrugged. "I feel the same way about you biological meatbags, after all. Make me sick, the lot of you."

"Ah, can it, tinman." Debra smirked. "At least we come with _all_ our parts."

"Can we change the subject before this goes somewhere nobody in this building needs to hear about?" Jim interrupted. "Thank you in advance."

"I don't know, boss." Dixon gave him a look. "You're the only one of us who hasn't told us how _you're_ doing in the field these days."

"Shut up, Dixon," Henry growled.

"No, no, it's a legitimate point." Jim waved him down. "And the answer's the same as last time. Still nothing."

"Shit." Dixon's smile faded. "Sorry, boss. I forgot. Listen, uh, me and Dane didn't mean anything when we were saying-"

"Not your fault I can't get over it and move on," Jim cut him off. "It's easy to forget. Don't worry about it, huh?"

"She was really something, huh?" Debra asked, toying with her martini. "Must have been, if it's been this long. Wish I could have met her."

_"You're a child, Jimmy. Do you really think it's that easy? That we can forget everything that's happened between us, just like that? That's a fairy tale, Jimmy, and you're old enough now to know better than to believe in fairy tales."_

"Yeah." Jim stared down into his whiskey glass. "Yeah, she was really something. That's one way of putting it."

"Let's hear it for women." Henry raised his mug, and the other three all followed suit. "To hell with 'em all. Present company excepted, Dane."

"After the breakup I just had, I'm with you, believe me," Debra assured him, lowering her drink and sipping at it.

"So how's that new case looking, Near?" Henry asked after a long moment. "That kid you met today."

"Blake, if this is an excuse to go on about how his ancestor saved Mega Man from the evil politicians from Mars or whatever..." Jim scowled.

"Nah, nah." Henry shook his head. "I just wanna know what we're getting ourselves into, that's all."

"Close as I can tell, it looks like a real mess, to be honest." Jim shook his head. "I haven't gone over all the info he's got for us yet, but from the way he told it, he's had a lot more success with implying that the old man really _is_ MIA than he's been able to dig up on _why_ he might have vanished off the face of the earth."

"Well, that's what he's paying us for, isn't it?" Dixon pointed out. "We going to start working on that tomorrow, then?"

"Unless something bigger comes up, which I tend to doubt." Jim nodded. "Nice thing is, he's not really expecting much, so as long as we get anywhere we'll keep on getting paid. No need to bust our asses scrounging up answers that aren't there."

"But we aren't gonna stop there, are we?" Henry guessed shrewdly. "Kind of like you, when you were that age, isn't he?"

"Nope." Jim tossed back the last of his drink. "To both questions. He's a good kid. He deserves better than the run-around, and he thinks the old guy does too. As far as I'm concerned, they're going to get it, and screw what the rest of that family has to say on the matter."

"Might get in trouble with the police," Dixon pointed out.

"Wouldn't be the first time," Henry reminded him. "And if we do, I've still got enough friends in the Hunters I can call up for a favor to get us out of hot water as long as we don't do anything stupid." He paused. "Well, stupider than normal."

"Why don't we all just try and keep our acts clean until further notice?" Debra suggested dryly. "On general principle."

"Works for me," Jim agreed. "As of tomorrow, the hunt is on for Mister Eccentric. Let's hope his luck is better than ours. But for tonight, I'm heading home."

"Sounds like a plan," Henry said as they all stood up and made their way to the exits. "See you maniacs tomorrow."

The drive home was as wet and miserable as the one away from it in the morning had been, but Jim was used to that by now, so it didn't really register. He didn't bother turning the lights on in his cheap apartment as he walked in, heading over to his phone setup and computer to check them first thing, like he did every evening when he came in. Also as usual, there were no messages waiting for him on either.

He spent a long time staring at the single old photo he kept hanging on the wall before going to sleep.

* * *

"Walter Martel, age 67. Born the same year as the first 'complete set' of Robot Masters, including Rock Light, aka Mega Man." Debra read to the other three in the office the next morning. "A child of the Robot Rebellions, and a lifelong activist of both human and robot rights, as well as of environmental issues. A talented inventor, personally responsible for building several reploids. Billionaire, philanthropist, ecologist and explorer, known for crackpot expeditions to corners of the world nobody sane would go willingly, and sometimes even succeeding."

"In other words, a real piece of work," Dixon summed it up. "Is this guy for real? I thought folks like that went out of style a century ago."

"Apparently not." Jim shook his head. "From what the kid told me about the old man, it's entirely possible he did it all on purpose, just to prove to the world that he _could._ He sounds like that kind of guy."

"So maybe not quite as altruistic as he looks on the surface, huh?" Henry guessed. "All right, that makes more sense. I don't like it when something sounds too good to be true, and that story was setting off all _my_ warning bells."

"Maybe, maybe not." Debra glanced at her computer again. "He's thrown a lot of money away to charities and such. Even founded a couple orphanages. I hate to say this as much as you would, Blake, but we might actually have an honest-to-god good guy on our hands."

"I _hate_ when we have to search for good guys," Jim muttered. "All right, I've been looking over everything the kid's collected. Seems like the old man really only spent much time around two or three places, usually, at least when he was in Seattle. His house, a bar called the _Pyramid Club_, and every now and then a baseball game, always with front row seats. Seems he was friend with the management. Now then, the way I see it, first thing we should do is drop by all three and see if we can find anything helpful."

"This one's our top priority, then?" Blake raised an eyebrow.

"Until something bigger comes along to top it, and that's not too likely." Jim nodded. "Blake, you take the stadium, see if they can tell you anything. I'll look at his house, see if there's anybody else there. If there's not, the kid'll probably be able to get me inside. Doyle, watch the office until I get back, then try the _Pyramid Club_ once it opens."

"Leaving me to twiddle my thumbs?" Dixon complained. "Come on, Near."

"Never said that." Jim smirked. "Congratulations, Dixon. You're going on a little field trip today."

"Aw, no." Dixon put his head in his arms. He was the only one of them who could teleport, and Jim never hesitated to make use of that ability. "Not _again_. Where am I shipping off to _this_ time? Not Florida again, I hope."

"How's the coast of Romania sound?" Jim asked. "That's where the old man's last expedition before this one-if it _is_ one-took him. He got back a month before he disappeared. Chances are _something_ happened over there that's significant, and I want to know what it is. Turn over some rocks until you can find out."

"Exactly how much trouble is acceptable?" Dixon raised an eyebrow. "Pretty important to know, after that thing in Venice."

"We're still getting calls about that one every now and then, you know," Debra commented dryly.

"Don't care, at least as far as this is concerned." Jim shook his head. "Open season, Dixon. I want answers, plain and simple. Get 'em for me, and we'll worry about fallout if and when it comes. Worst case scenario, we'll ask the kid to lend us a hand on that part of it too." He tossed Dixon the datapad. "All the info on the expedition's in there. Gotta hand it to the kid, he knows how to do his prep work for something like this."

"Mind if I ask _what_ he was doing over there?" Henry said curiously.

"Get this." Jim had to smirk. "Looking for _Atlantis._"

"You're _joking_." Debra stared at him.

"Not even." He shook his head. "Guess he figured that since it'd been so long since anybody else had, the time was right for somebody to finally pull it off, or something."

"Whatever, Jim." Dixon grinned, checking the datapad for the exact coordinates. "All right, I'm off. I'll look this over once I get there. See you tonight, folks." Melting into a blur of blue and gray light, he shot through the ceiling and was gone.

"He didn't actually _aim_ for where the old man thought Atlantis _was_, did he?" Henry asked after a moment.

"If he did, he's the one in for a wet landing, not us." Jim shrugged. "Got the right idea, though. I'm heading off." Retrieving his coat and hat, he went back out again.

It was raining again, as usual; by now, he barely even noticed. It still didn't make driving to the outskirts of the city any easier, though. Considering his wealth, it wasn't surprising that Walter Martel had lived in a private residence away from the grid. What _was_ surprising was how humble it was, all things considered; a simple two-story on a street full of other like it, pleasant but hardly the picture of wealth.

No answer came when Jim knocked on the door the first time; shrugging, he tried again, ringing the bell as well. The house remained unresponsive. After a cursory search for a spare key unsurprisingly turned up flat, he was about to turn away when a speaker set in the wall next to the door crackled.

"Are you from Near, Blake, Dane and Dixon?" The voice was flat and blank, obviously altered to hide any trace of the person's identity.

"That's right." Jim nodded, producing his badge; he was almost sure there was a camera watching him. "Jim Near. I'm here investigating the disappearance of Walter Martel." There was a long silence before the speaker continued, as the door swung open.

"Come in."

"All right." Jim did as the voice had said, shaking the rainwater off under the overhang before stepping inside. There was an old-fashioned coatrack stand next to the door; he hung his, along with his hat, as he looked around. The living room was pleasantly decorated, but not obviously expensively, much like the exterior of the house. Two doors set in corners at the far end of the room led further into the house, and a staircase led up to the second floor. A humanoid reploid in an expensive-looking suit was descending the latter at the moment.

"Good morning, Mr. Near," he said politely, though his face held a disapproving frown. He'd been built to resemble an elderly man, tall and lean with close-cut white hair and a sharp mustache. The only things identifying his species were his heavy boots; aside from them, he looked completely human. "My name is Hawkins, and I'm one of the caretakers of this domicile. Please, come up to the office. The others are waiting there."

"Sounds good to me, chief." Jim replied, following him up. The first door on the left took them to a room much more bizarre than the rest of the house he'd seen so far. It was a study in contrasts; half of it was old-fashioned, with two wooden desks and bookcases lining the walls. Straight down the center of the room, however, it was divided into a modern, high-tech zone, the bookcases replaced with monitors and other strange devices whose functions mostly escaped him, the desks stark and metal. Each side had two chairs to go with the desks; two of four were occupied.

"Sorry we took so long to let you in," another male reploid told him, standing up to shake his hand. He was just as tall as Hawkins, but significantly broader in the shoulders and chest; the suit he wore and his bald head gave him the unfortunate look of a high-class bouncer. Despite that, his eyes and smile were warm and genuine. "The vultures keep stopping by to try and kick us out of here, so we've started just ignoring them. We're kind of holed up here, to be honest. Name's Hyde, and this is Catriona."

"William told us you, or somebody else from your firm, might be stopping by," the third reploid said quietly. The only female of the three, she looked to be about twenty, with dark hair and eyes. She was wearing a white skirt and sweater, which made her look more like a resident than a servant, and her smile was shy. "Hawkins still didn't think we should let you in, but we outvoted him. We'll be happy to help you however you can."

"I assure you, it's nothing personal." Hawkins sat down in the remaining wooden chair, next to her, leaving the other metal one for Jim. "In these times, I find myself less trusting of strangers than normal, and I was never the most friendly man regardless."

"Can't blame you for that, chief." Jim shrugged, taking the last seat. "Hope you don't mind if I ask you a few questions about Mr. Martel, though."

"By all means." Hyde nodded slightly. "That's why we let you in, after all. Anything that poses the slightest chance of bringing him back."

"Well then, let's not waste any time." Jim glanced at them in turn. "This might be a bit strange to ask, but... could you explain what you meant by 'caretakers' a bit further?"

"Exactly what you'd think, Mr. Near," Hawkins replied. "We ensure that the house remains neat and orderly, and assist Mr. Martel in his daily life."

"I see." Jim kept his gaze on him for a bit, then turned to the other two. "I'm aware that this is very rude of me, but I'm afraid I have to ask, all the same. I'll be blunt. Did Mr. Martel build you himself?"

"Why, you-" Hawkins snarled.

"It's all right, Hawkins," Catriona said quietly before he could finish the sentence. "Mr. Near has a point. It _is_ important to his investigation." She met his gaze firmly. "The answer is yes. Mr. Martel did indeed build us all, and has employed us ever since. Before you proceed to your next question, however, no, we're not in his will."

"Interesting." Jim raised an eyebrow. "Mind if I ask why? It's obvious you were more than just servants as far as he was concerned. This house isn't nearly big enough that it would need three of you to keep it up. That's just a blanket explanation, isn't it?"

"For various reasons, Mr. Martel's never been able to have children of his own," Hyde admitted. "Draw your own conclusions. Regardless of what they are, however, his actual family has never approved of us, with one exception. Mr. Martel's always known there was a possibility he might disappear one day. Should the three of us have anything to gain by that, well... 'suspicion of Maverick activity' is often enough, especially when somebody wants it to be."

"All right, I think we can leave that line of inquiry behind us now." Near glanced at Hawkins, who had gone silent, but was clearly still angry. "And I'm sorry for bringing it up in the first place, but I wouldn't be investigating the case properly if I didn't follow up on every angle. Now then, were the three of you here on the night Mr. Martel disappeared?"

"I'm afraid not." Hyde shook his head. "We'd all been given the night off. Hawkins and I went to the _Pyramid Club_, and Catriona was out with... a friend."

"A friend, huh?" Jim glanced at her.

"Yes." She looked down, blushing slightly, in total contrast to the cool way she'd answered his previous question. "A friend, Mr. Near."

"Gotcha." He frowned. "Seems kind of a coincidence, that he'd send all of you out on the night he disappeared. He do that often?"

"Not at all," Hawkins spoke up again. "He always kept at least one of us here with him, whenever he was home. Always. We thought it strange ourselves, and when we returned, he had vanished. Young William has already told you that him leaving intentionally doesn't mesh at all with his previous behavior, I assume?"

"That's right, and I'm inclined to agree with him, as far as guesswork goes," Jim told him. "Which makes me think he knew something was going to happen that night, but it wasn't going to be voluntary."

"You think somebody _made_ him disappear, then," Hyde said cautiously. "His family?"

"They're the obvious answer, all right," Jim admitted. "But obvious isn't always correct. You said he'd never send you all out on the same night. Were there any other ways he'd been acting strangely before that happened? Different?"

"Yes, he'd been behaving oddly for the previous few months," Catriona replied quietly. "Paranoid, edgy. He would always ask us if we'd seen any traces of anybody else in the house, and tell us to run checks on the security, both physical and electronic. It was like he was afraid of something, or somebody. We all thought it was his family, but I'll admit... it was too much, for them. Like he thought he was always being watched."

"And when did he start acting like this?" Jim asked, already guessing at the answer.

"After he got back from his last expedition," Hawkins told him quietly. "Where he tried to find Atlantis. You believe there's a connection?"

"I'm not ruling it out," Jim replied frankly. "I'll probably have a firmer opinion once Dixon gets back from taking a look over there. What about his family? How long did it take them to find out he was gone?"

"Several days," Hyde said, both him and Hawkins turning to Catriona, who closed her eyes. "William's a good friend of ours, but he's _not_ very good at keeping secrets, I'm afraid. Once Catriona told him, it wasn't long before the others knew as well."

"This friend you were out with that night," Jim said, the ghosts of his own past drawing even closer in his mind. "Was it him?"

"Yes, it was." Catriona met his gaze coldly. "I hope you're not implying anything about him, Mr. Near. William is the only one of that family aside from Mr. Martel himself who's a decent human being, and if saying that counts as 'Maverick tendencies,' then I don't care."

"Catriona!" Hawkins snapped.

"_So what do we do, then, Jimmy? Just run away from all of this, the two of us against the world? You're dreaming, Jimmy. You're lying to yourself. You'd never make it like that, and you'd never want to._"

"On the contrary, Miss Catriona," Jim told her quietly. "He's a good kid. That's about all I can think of, but if we come across anything else..."

"We'll be here." Hyde smiled briefly. "At least, until his family inherits. They can't kick us out of here until then, but once that does happen... well."

"I'll just have to do my best to find him before that happens, then," Jim said with more confidence than he really felt. "Thank you for your time."

"I'll see you out," Hawkins offered, rising again.

"Thanks." Jim stood as well. Snooping was obviously out of the question with the three of them in the house anyways. The two of them left the other two, descending the stairs again in silence. Only when they opened the door again did Hawkins react, and with good reason; several very large men in suits were standing there, flanking another who looked much like William would were he several decades older.

"Mr. Martel," Hawkins said coldly. "Before you ask, our answer remains the same."

"I wasn't expecting it to change, reploid, and I wouldn't care if it did," the newcomer replied. "You had your chance. Now it's just a matter of time. I'm here to speak with Mr. Near. You can go on back inside to hide in your corner now. Won't change a damn thing."

"Mr. Near?" The reploid asked quietly.

"I'll take care of it," Jim told him, forcing calmness. "He probably won't go away until he gets his say anyways." Walking towards the man, he feigned a smile, but didn't extend his hand. "Peter Martel, I assume?"

"Correct." Peter nodded firmly. "And you would be Mister Jim Near, of Near, Blake, Dane and Dixon. The private investigators my eldest son, William, hired to look into my brother Walter's disappearance."

"That's me," Jim agreed. "I was planning on stopping by to ask you some questions about that soon anyways. This should save some time."

"I'm sure." Peter didn't smile. "My car is right this way, Mr. Near. We have many things to talk about."

"Nah, right here's fine." Jim leaned against the wall, conscious of Hawkins locking the door behind him. "We're out of the rain. That's good enough for me."

"Hmph." The older man frowned deeper. "Very well, then. Let's cut to the chase, Mr. Near. I think my son may have been hasty in contracting your services. My brother's simply gone off on one of his ridiculous wild goose chases, just as he always does. There's no need for you to waste your time searching for him."

"That a fact." Jim glanced upward. "Unfortunately, we do have bills to pay, Mr. Martel. Quite a few of them, too. If somebody's willing to hire us, as long as it's worth our time, we generally don't tell them _not_ to."

"If _that's_ all that matters to you, I can ensure you'll be more than adequately compensated," Peter replied calmly. "Much more so than my son's paying you."

"Shame that we've also got these little things called professional standards," Jim said off-handedly. "I sure would have liked to say yes to being bribed off."

"Really, now." Peter's eyes narrowed, and he actually smiled faintly. "I would have thought the eldest son of Nicholas Near would understand the way the world works better than that."

"That a fact." Jim's head snapped up to glare at him before he could stop himself. "Maybe you thought wrong, then. In case you hadn't noticed, my family's rich. I'm not."

"I'm perfectly aware of that." Peter kept the smile. "Which means that you no longer have your father's protection, boy. You might want to keep that in mind when deciding who and who not to cross."

"_He's not pretending, Jimmy. He's not hiding anything, and he's not going to change. You're property to him, just like we are. You and your brothers are all just a higher class of property, as far as he's concerned. He thinks he _owns_ you. And as long as you play to his tune, he does._"

"And you say _I_ need to learn how the world works?" Jim snorted derisively. "Why don't you call the old man up and ask him about that yourself? Go on, try it. And even then, _I'm_ not the one whose past you need to worry about."

"I assume you're referring to Mr. Blake and his time with the Maverick Hunters?" Peter raised an eyebrow. "The Hunters don't scare me, Mr. Near."

"Then you _definitely_ don't know the way the world works." Jim smiled coldly, starting to walk past him. "And I don't have time to explain it to you, so I'll just give you some advice and be on my way. _Be_ afraid of the Hunters, old man. I sure as hell am."

"Did I say you could-" Peter started to snarl, then paused, apparently remembering that the house's cameras were probably recording everything that was happening. Neither he or the goons made any move to stop Jim, but he turned to call after him into the rain. "This isn't over, Near!"

Jim didn't bother replying.

* * *

"..and that's about all I got," Jim finished telling Debra and Henry as they sipped their drinks at the _Poe Club_ again, later in the evening. He'd returned before Henry and sent Debra off, claiming he didn't want to have to tell the story more than once. After they'd both came back when it was time to head out for the day, however, with no sign of Dixon, they'd pressed him into it once they were down at the bar. "What about you two?"

"More of the same, I'm afraid," Debra explained glumly. "The guys there pretty much said everything you did. Apparently the old man's been coming there for the last couple decades, and he usually brings either Hawkins or Hyde with him, or occasionally his nephew and Catriona; they always come together with him. That night was the first time Hawkins or Hyde ever came without him, though. Everybody there was sure of it."

"They say anything about his behavior?" Henry asked.

"Same thing there, too." She nodded. "Paranoid, edgy, more and more as time went on. He started coming less and less; seems the last month, up until those two showed up one night, he didn't at all." She frowned. "This might not be all that reliable, but they said that every time something having to do with Maverick activity showed up on the news, it would set him off, and he'd leave as soon as possible."

"I don't like the sound of _that_ one bit," Jim said after a long, silent moment. "If he got mixed up with _Mavericks_ somehow, we're in over our heads." He glanced at the other man. "Blake, what do you have for us?"

"Not even as much as you guys." Henry shrugged. "Talked to the folks there, and they said he's only come once ever since he got back." He paused. "At least, I thought that was all it was. Then I got to talking with the owner. Turns out he's a Rebellion buff, too."

"Look, Blake..." Debra started to groan, then paused as Jim raised a hand.

"This important?"

"Sure is," Henry continued. "'Cause that one time Martel showed up? He was asking the man all _sorts_ of questions about the Rebellions. Bad news for us is, he didn't think much of it, so he doesn't remember exactly what it was he asked, but he says the old man never really had much interest in them before."

"This is getting pretty weird," Debra said after another long moment.

"No kidding," Jim agreed, finishing off his drink and calling for a refill. "Some folks think there's a connection between the Robot Rebellions and wherever the hell the Maverick Virus actually came from in the first place, but they're crackpots, for the most part. Conspiracy nuts. Not sure how I feel about getting involved in something like that. Lot of crazies out there."

"No kidding." Henry snorted. "This turns into a slasher flick, we're _shit_ out of luck with the kind of team we've got."

"A black guy, a lesbian, and a reploid?" Debra rolled her eyes. "Yeah, the only real question is who dies _first_. Could be anybody, except the boss."

"You never know." Jim chuckled dryly. "Could be me just to throw everybody off. And speaking of Dixon, looks like he finally got back in."

"Whiskey, double, straight up," Dixon told the bartender as he slid onto the stool next to Henry. The reploid's normally cheerful face was looking even more off-kilter than the other three, eyes nervous and wary.

"I take it looking around over there didn't go too well?" Jim guessed.

"Depends on what you call 'going well.' Dixon stared at his feet. "I got a lot of information, but it's not the kind you're _happy_ about getting."

The other three all exchanged glances.

"It's starting to look like that's the way this case is going," Debra said cautiously. "We've all found things we're not too happy with either. Why don't you tell us the story?"

"That sounds like a good idea to me, too," a new voice agreed. The girl who sat down next to Dixon was a reploid in full hot-pink armor, though her helmet was off, long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. Her eyes were large and blue, giving her an innocent appearance that was completely subverted by her next words. "Name's Suzy. Maverick Hunters, 8th Unit. We've been conducting an ongoing investigation where you just came from, Mister Dixon." She showed them her ID, then turned to the barman. "Midori sour."

"The Hunters, huh?" Jim murmured, all of them turning to Henry.

"Been a long time since I've seen one of you around here," the big man replied easily. "8th Unit, huh? Good outfit."

"We get the job done." She smiled slightly. "Henry Blake, right? Rip from the 6th said he was surprised you were still alive."

"Rip never knew shit back when I was with the Hunters." He rolled his eyes. "Looks like some things don't change. Good kid, though. Glad to hear he's still heading his Unit up. What about my old crew? Bulldog still kicking?"

"Actually, no." She shook her head. "Lost a leg in a skirmish over in the Tsugaru Strait, and that finally got him to retire."

"Bulldog retiring?" Henry replied with obvious disbelief. "Never thought I'd hear _that_ one."

"Trust me, the rest of the Hunters felt the same way," Suzy assured him. "That one-eyed hatchet man's the Commander now-Jack something-but Bloody Maria's the one who's really calling the shots. She'd have made top herself, but she'd only been in for about two months when Bulldog opted out. Probably part of why he did it." She glanced over at Dixon. "Listen, I'd love to trade gossip all night, but we've all got more important things to hear."

"What she said," Debra agreed mildly. "What exactly _did_ you find out over there, Dixon?"

"Trouble," the reploid said flatly. "Walter Martel based his search for Atlantis out of the city of Constanta, on the coast of the Black Sea. During the first few months of his search, he was focused entirely on it; he'd spend weeks out on the water, only coming back to the city when he needed supplies. But then one morning, he came back from his diving looking like he'd just had a drink with Sigma. He spent a few days asking questions around the city, and then took off. The same kinds of questions I asked, and the ones I'm guessing the Hunters are, too."

"For several years now, there's been a rash of disappearances all around the coast of the Black Sea," Suzy continued. "Nothing out of the ordinary, on face value. Sad, but people disappear all the time, even in this day and age. Until you notice that an awful lot of recent disappearances are old men, over the age of sixty. And most of _those_ aren't so much 'never came home' stories as 'vanished _out_ of their homes without a trace.' Not the usual. Not at all."

"Not even close," Jim agreed. "So, let me get this straight. The old man finds something out there in the Black Sea that scares the shit out of him. He comes back, asks about anything weird going on, finds out, and figures he might be next so he runs back home. Spends the next few months on edge, and then one night, he's gone too. Either whoever it is tracked him and took him as well, or else he figured the only way he'd get out of this alive was to disappear. Either way... sounds like what he found out there's what's been responsible."

"If he was taken, why wouldn't they have grabbed the three reploids he lived with, too?" Suzy pointed out. "It seems more likely that he ran away."

"Unless he never told them," Debra pointed out. "If they didn't know anything, there would be no reason to make them vanish and draw even more attention."

"How would whoever this was know?" Dixon asked. "I mean, sure, he was paranoid that somebody was always watching him wherever he went, without ever being discovered, but... that's just conspiracy theory crap. Nobody's _that_ good. Not in real life."

"Not any more, you mean," Henry corrected him. "Back during the Rebellions, the big guys pulled that kind of thing off. Wily, Cossack, Proto Man... they could have done it."

"Yeah, and some people say Darwin Vinkus is still alive, too." Dixon snorted. "Come on, Blake. Even assuming that's not just hyperbole, they're all long gone, and they were something else when they were still alive. I'll believe somebody pulling off the same kind of crazy shit they used to when I see it."

"Does it really matter why he disappeared?" Debra reminded them. "We'll still be looking for him either way, right?"

"Not necessarily." Suzy shook her head. "Of course, the Maverick Hunters don't have any actual control over your actions, but if Mr. Martel was another victim of whatever's behind these disappearances, I'd strongly suggest that you leave this matter to us. They're likely to be more than anybody except the Hunters can handle. No offense."

"None taken," Jim assured her. "We'll take your suggestion under advisement, and I actually mean that. Tomorrow morning, once we're all clear-headed, I think we'd better have a conference in the office about whether we should continue with this case or not. I'm not going to just decide without any input from the rest of you, and an hour into our cups isn't the time and place to do that. But we definitely need to talk it over, at this point."

"Amen to _that_," Debra drawled, raising her glass, and the others followed suit.

"Well, I suppose that's the best I can ask for." Suzy finished off her drink and stood, smiling at Dixon. "I'd better get back to base, but I'll call you again tomorrow so we can see if any of us has anything else we should tell each other, huh?"

"Sure." Dixon slowly smiled back. "Yeah, that'd be great."

"See you then, then." She winked before walking out, teleporting away once she was outside on the sidewalk.

"Pretty cute, isn't she?" Debra said, nudging Dixon. "Think she likes you."

"You think so?" Dixon kept smiling, glancing from one of them to another.

"If you don't ask her out the next time she calls, you will _never _live it down," Henry told him seriously. "Long-distance don't mean all that much when you can teleport, after all."

_"Don't bother looking for me, Jimmy. I'm going away, and that means far away. So far I'll never see anybody I know, ever again."_

"I guess it don't," Jim agreed, finishing off his glass. "I'm heading off, then. And hey. I meant it about tomorrow morning."

"We know, boss." Henry waved him off. "Have a nice night."

"Right," Jim grunted. The drive home was the same as always; dark and wet. It was only when he arrived that things took a turn for the worse; as soon as he walked into his apartment, he saw that somebody else was there, waiting for him.

"Mr. Near," the stranger said flatly. The lights were out, and he was wearing both a duster and a cowboy hat, all of which did a good job of concealing everything about him save that he was remarkably short, barely four feet tall. "You and your friends are all in a great deal of danger right now."

"Is that a threat?" Jim asked cautiously, making no moves; whoever it was clearly had the drop on him. "I don't take too kindly to those."

"Just the opposite," the stranger corrected him. "It's a warning, and it's the only one I'm going to give you. I can't risk being discovered, and this is the last night I'll be able to talk to you without running that risk. They've already found you, Mr. Near. They'll soon be watching your every move, and it will only be a matter of time before they come for you. They're moving in as we speak. As soon as they think you're about to discover their secrets, you'll simply disappear, as will anybody else you've told. Gone, as if you'd never existed at all."

"Say I believe you," Jim suggested cautiously. "What would you advise, then?"

"Disappear by yourself, before it's too late," the stranger continued. "You and the other three. Split up, and head to the farthest corners of the globe you can, separately. New identities, new careers, new lives. It's your only hope, Mr. Near. Otherwise, none of you are going to live to see the end of the year."

"That a fact." Jim's eyes narrowed. "And who are you, then?"

"I can't tell you that, I'm afraid." The stranger shook his head. "I'm taking a significant risk contacting you at all. My people asked me to warn you, while we could, but that's as far as we're willing to go. No matter what the price, _we_ must remain unknown to _them,_ as well as the rest of the world. Goodbye, Mr. Near, and good luck. You'll need it." A glint of light from a passing car's headlights hit him as he stepped back, illuminating what looked like metallic scales, and then he was gone in a blur of green light that shot through the ceiling.

"A reploid?" Jim asked aloud. "Or... was that a _robot master_?" He stared up at the ceiling for some time, seeking answers unforthcoming, before giving up and turning in.

It turned out to be the first time he could remember since he'd been a child that he dreamed of anything other than her, and that only worried him more.

* * *

The next morning, despite his common sense, Jim woke up with the feeling that somebody else was in his apartment again. He tried to banish the thoughts and failed, eventually giving up and succumbing to the urge to search it for any signs of entry. There were none, which didn't help his fears; after all, the previous intruder hadn't left any. Forcing him to get a hold of himself, he showered, dressed and headed into work, stopping only to pick up coffee and donuts on the way.

"Sheesh, Near," Henry said as they all glanced over at him as he hung his coat. "You look like somebody hit you with ten metric tons of shit."

"Had a rough night," Jim explained, crossing to his desk and sitting down. "Thanks to a certain visitor." He filled them in on the intruder and their conversation, to a great deal of surprise as well as dismay.

"It could have just been one of Peter Martel's stooges, coming to try and scare you off the case," Debra suggested once he was done, but she sounded dubious about it herself.

"He wouldn't have sent a reploid," Dixon disagreed. "If that _was_ a reploid. Are there even any robot masters left at all these days?"

"Not many." Henry frowned. "You hear rumors about one every now and then-stories about a Guts Man working a job on a construction site somewhere, a photo of some tourists posing with a Knight Man, all that jazz, but I've never actually seen one myself. About the only place I know for sure that still has any is Doc Cossack's castle, and that place is a total tourist trap these days. After the War of 2090, people just stopped making them, and the ones that were left eventually started wearing out, one by one until there weren't any left."

"That doesn't really make sense, you know," Dixon commented. "I don't know much about robot masters, but I _do _know those things were built to last. Up until the Maverick Uprisings, there wasn't all that much trouble in the world after 2090, was there? So they wouldn't have been destroyed in any sort of fighting."

"No, they weren't." Henry coughed. "By 'wearing out,' I mean 'a lot of people deciding they didn't like robot masters any more.' I was trying to be polite."

"Oh."

"We're getting off track," Jim told them. "Like I said in the bar last night, I think we should take a vote on if we want to continue this investigation or not. Under the circumstances, I think if we explained matters to Mr. Martel, he'd understand if we wanted to call it quits. He's a reasonable kid, and he knows taking chances like this is a little much to ask of us. We're PIs, not heroes, and we aren't in the business of risking our necks."

"If your friend from last night was being honest with you, that won't be enough to save us, you know," Debra pointed out. "He said we'd have to do a complete cut-and-run if we wanted to live. Just dumping this job doesn't exactly count."

"That's his problem, not ours," Jim said with more confidence than he felt, trying to control the urge to start checking the office for any traces of intruders as well. "I'm not going to just throw away my life because some spook's giving me a cryptic warning."

"Well then." Debra shrugged. "The way I see this, either we're suddenly in a slasher movie or we're not. If you're disregarding that advice, then if we are, we're all basically screwed. And if we're not, I don't see any reason to quit this case."

"Will you cut it out with that slasher movie talk?" Henry muttered to her. "Somehow, it ain't as funny as it was last night."

"Guess not." She frowned. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not too eager to just drop everything because of some freak who breaks into people's apartments either. But something's just felt... off, ever since last night."

"I know what you mean," Henry agreed. "All the same, though, I don't think I want to give this one up either. If you'd asked me before the Hunters got involved, I might have, but now... call it macho bullshit if you want, but I don't like the thought of word getting back to my old buddies in the 11th that I've gone too soft to handle this."

"You're right." Debra smirked. "It _is_ macho bullshit. But I suppose I can kind of see your point, all the same."

"Careful, Dane," he said with a chuckle. "Keep talking like that, I'm going to start thinking you like me."

"Not like _that_, I don't," she retorted. "Keep dreaming, Blake."

"You two done?" Jim asked dryly. "What about you, Dixon? What's your vote?"

"Well..." Dixon glanced away, trying to keep casual, but couldn't keep himself from smiling. "Suzy _did_ call me up on the way here this morning to ask if I'd be coming back over to investigate some more."

"And you came here to hang out with old fogies like us instead?" Henry demanded. "What's wrong with you? Go on, get over there!" He glanced at Jim. "Unless the boss wants to use a veto on our votes?"

"As if." Jim scoffed. "Truth be told, I was hoping the rest of you would see reason and vote to give this up. What's wrong with you all?"

"Brave words coming from the guy who waited until we voted before chiming in," Dixon joked. "So you aren't voting no either?"

"Nah." Jim shook his head. "Much as I'd like to... this one just feels too personal for me to let go of that easy. On that note, nobody go telling the kid any of this creepy stuff we've found just yet. No point in getting him involved until we have some definite answers for him, you know? Especially if it is risky business." The others all nodded, and he grinned. "Good. Now then, Dixon, get on over to Constanta. Didn't anybody ever tell you never to keep a lady waiting?"

"Righto, boss." Dixon saluted mockingly before teleporting away.

"So, what's that leave for the rest of us to do today?" Henry asked once he was gone. "Not much to look into any more, on this end of things. Sounds like the only way we're going to get anywhere is if we head on over there with Dixon."

"That's what I'll be seeing about, today," Jim explained, glancing around the office again and trying to make it look casual. "If our sponsor feels up to financing a few plane tickets for the rest of us."

"So we'll be heading over to check out the site too?" Henry asked, leaning back. "Sounds good to me. For some reason, I just really want to get out of the office all of a sudden. Don't know why, but it just feels..." He shrugged.

"No, I get it too," Jim agreed, glancing at his screen. "I know this'll sound crazy, but... nobody's been in here today, right? Nobody but us, I mean? Have we, you know... actually checked if anybody has?"

"Are you kidding, Near?" Debra rolled her eyes. "With guys like Peter Martel on our case? I've been sweeping the whole office every morning as soon as I get in. Weird shit aside, that's _exactly_ the sort of thing that guy would do. Don't worry, there's been nothing that I've been able to pick up, and I know my business."

"Never doubted that you did, Dane," Jim assured her. "I'm just a little on edge with all of this, I guess."

"We all are," Henry told him. "And we all know we all are. And that's making it worse, 'cause we all know we don't usually lose our heads like this. Even that time in the warehouse, with those gangsters, we kept it cool until we were out of there. Even _Dixon_ kept it cool. But now, this?" He shook his head.

"It's the feeling like I'm being watched that gets me," Debra explained, glancing down from her screen to stare at her hands. "I _know_ nobody's there. That nobody's _here_, except us. But that weird feeling you get when somebody's staring at you... it's been there ever since this morning. It wouldn't be so bad, except it just doesn't _stop._"

"You, too?" Near replied, smiling weakly. "Here I thought I was just being paranoid after that guy broke in last night. You've got a point, though, Blake. That shouldn't have rattled me nearly as much as I am now, let alone the rest of you mugs."

"That's another reason to stay on this case, then," Debra said quietly. "This is sounding an awful lot like what happened to Walter Martel. And if that's the case, then we're probably already in this too deep to back out at this point. Finding our answers is going to be the only way to fix this. We'll just have to hope we live through it."

"Now I remember why we keep Dixon around," Henry commented. "He was the most optimistic one of us sorry suckers. We needed him to keep us from sinking into a bog of gloom and doom."

"Hilarious." Jim walked past them. "Well, the sooner I go over and talk to Martel about that trip to Constanta, the better. Try to keep yourselves from going crazy until I get back, hopefully with favorable news."

"No promises," Debra cracked, sounding like she was only half-joking.

Once he was out in his car, he started driving before pulling out his phone and calling William up. He knew he shouldn't, but the strange feeling of being watched wasn't going away just because he was outdoors, and focusing the urge to run blindly away into driving somewhere instead was the best he could do. As the rain poured down, he dialed up his client, and fought the impulse to throw the phone out the window.

"Mr. Near?" William replied quickly. "I'm glad you called. I take it that you have some news for me?"

"I might, yeah," Jim told him. He started to go on, then paused, conscious of the phone in a way he'd never been paranoid about before. "Mind if I drop by for a chat? Kind of talk we should probably have in person, if you take my drift."

"Of course, of course," William agreed, sounding distracted. "I'm at my apartment in the city. I trust you know the address?"

"Yup." Jim nodded; it had been with his phone number on the datapad. "On my way right now. See you in a few." His sense of anxiety only increased as he kept going through the rain, and his driving ability began to suffer, pushing the speed up faster than he normally would have almost absently. Fortunately, there were no altercations with law enforcement, and he parked outside the gated community William lived in roughly ten minutes later. Getting out, he was about to try and reach him on the intercom when a pair of hulking figures loomed up before him.

"'Scuse us, Mr. Near," one of them rumbled. "We'd like to have a little chat with you on behalf of Mr. Martel."

"Mr. _Peter_ Martel," the other one added unnecessarily.

"No kidding?" Jim asked, backing up. "Unfortunately, I'm afraid my schedule's all booked up at the moment, but next week's completely open."

"That a fact?" The first one asked. "Well, I figure we can open it up some."

"I think not," William said from the other side of the gate, a phone in his hand. "That will do, gentlemen, unless you'd like me to make a few calls I really don't think you do. And don't get any ideas about his car while he's busy, either, or you will regret it. Mr. Near, this way, please."

"Thanks, kid," Jim said, slipping between the two sullen thugs as the gate opened. Once it was closed again and the two of them were walking towards his apartment, he turned his head to give him a direct glance. "Took a bit of a risk there, didn't you? Those two bruisers could have decided they were going to teach you a lesson about mouthing off."

"Unlikely." William smiled bitterly. "They're all too aware of what my father would do to them if they made that mistake. Not out of any sense of concern for my welfare, of course, so much as a running policy on what he considers his business, despite our differences in opinions."

"Know what that's like." Jim shook his head sympathetically as they walked in. "I only see my old man once a year these days, but one time I showed up on the tail end of a brawl and he actually threatened some of his own people's 'encouragement' to try and get me to tell him how it happened and who it was."

The apartment was much like Walter's house had been; expensive more in function than in form, clearly owned by somebody with money but completely lacking in unnecessary frills and costly machines. After hanging up their coats, they went into the kitchen, where a pot of coffee had just finished brewing; without even asking, William poured two mugs and handed one to Jim as they sat down.

"Now then," the younger man said. "What have you found?"

"We've got something of a lead," Jim explained cautiously, thinking over exactly how much to tell him. He wanted to be honest with him, but at the same time, if there _was_ something bad going on because they knew too much, there was no point in getting him caught up in it as well. "All the evidence we've gathered indicates his disappearance has something to do with his _last_ little adventure. Looking for Atlantis, over in the Black Sea. I don't suppose there's anything more you can tell me about that?"

"Not much more than Catriona, Hyde and Hawkins already have, I'm afraid," William replied, shaking his head. "Before you ask, yes, she told me you'd stopped by. It was more of a private joke than a serious venture; he'd been telling my father he was going to find Atlantis ever since he was my age, and it eventually became his favorite way of needling him. His behavior _did_ change after that last trip, though, you're right. I hadn't thought of it that way myself, but now that I am, you definitely have a point."

"Glad we're on the same page," Jim said with a brief nod, then moved on before he slipped up and asked if they were the only people in the apartment; acting unhinged was _not_ the best course of action. "We've already got Dixon over there looking around; he thinks he's onto something, but no actual answers yet. Only one of us who can make it there and back in the same day, for obvious reasons."

"Oh?" William looked curious. "What's he discovered, then?"

"Well..." Jim scratched his head, a plausible lie coming to him suddenly. "Thing is, the problem over in Constanta he thinks might be related to your uncle's disappearance? The Maverick Hunters are on it, too, and they've kind of asked us to keep it under our hats until they give the OK. You're the client, so I'll let you know if you want, but I'm not sure you _would_ want to chance crossing those folks, you know?"

"Oh, no, that's quite all right," William said quickly; his eyes had gone wide as soon as Jim had dropped the name. "I could go my entire life without drawing _their_ attention quite happily." He went pale then, apparently realizing that what he'd said could be taken the wrong way. "I mean, I'm aware of all the good they do, and that we'd all be dead several times over if it hadn't been for them, but... well, they scare me."

"That just means you've got common sense, kid," Jim assured him. "Blake's an ex-Hunter himself, and there were guys back in the outfit that scared _him_. Anyways, you're the client, so how far we take this is up to you. I'll be honest with you, getting the other three of us over there with Dixon would be the best way to do it. It'd go faster, be more efficient, and we'd have better chances of success. But plane tickets over there ain't exactly cheap, even in this day and age, and it'd make sense if you didn't want to spring for 'em. Your call."

"There's no question at all," William replied calmly. "I'll arrange for them immediately. It's nothing I can't afford, and you've convinced me that you're on the right track." He smiled faintly. "I'm tempted to use my family account for it, but I'm fairly sure that would ensure beyond a doubt that my father would hold a grudge against your firm even after this case is settled. I'm afraid it's still rather likely, but there's no point in making it worse unnecessarily." He sighed. "He's rather petty like that, especially when I cross him."

"If he's anything like my old man, eventually he'll just get sick of dealing with you and give up," Jim advised him. Against the urging of his paranoia and nervousness, rather than leaving as soon as business was concluded, he took another sip of coffee and glanced at William, seeing his own past. "I'm guessing you've got siblings he likes a hell of a lot more than you. Sooner or later, he'll probably just cut his losses and focus on them."

"A younger brother, yes." William nodded. "I can't say I'm very fond of him myself, but I have to admit, what he likes in morality he makes up for in intelligence and talent. He'll probably handle the family's business better than I would anyways. Yourself?"

"Two brothers, one sister, all incompetent shitheads," Jim said dryly. "You're lucky; I'd give a kidney for just one of them to be capable of looking out for the other two. The only reason I stay in contact with the family at all these days is because of them; they can't deal with the whole mess between our parents by ourselves."

"I believe I've seen that on the news." William winced sympathetically. "They're still settling the divorce, I take it. Bad?"

"Oh, yeah." Jim made a face. "Seems finding out they hated each other brought out their best feelings about us, too. Hard to say what's worse-mom telling it to our faces, or dad telling other folks behind our backs. I can deal with it, but the others? I'd feel sorry for them if they weren't such jackasses." He sighed. "Still, they're my brothers and sister. Some things you gotta do, no matter how much you don't want to."

"I suppose if my brother required my help in any way, I'd feel the same," William conceded. "I'm lucky, then, that he shouldn't. I'll be able to cut my ties with the family completely and go my own way, one day."

"You and Miss Catriona, right?" Jim shook his head, chuckling. "Man, looking at you really is like a mirror into my youth."

"You had somebody like that as well, when you were... still with your family, then?" William asked after a moment.

"That's right." Jim nodded. After a moment, he pulled out his wallet, flipped it open to the line of photos he kept in there, and showed him. "Name was Coral. 'Cause of her hair color, see? She was one of the servants at the family house. Took care of the younger ones a lot; I helped her out when nobody was looking, before they all started going bad. Nobody else in the family treated her, or the other reploids, very well, but... I always liked her, even back when I was kind of an entitled shithead myself. She ended up opening my eyes to that."

"Can I ask what happened?" William said quietly, looking at the photos. "I'm assuming it didn't work out."

"Bingo." Jim closed his eyes. "Like I said, I was an asshole myself for a long time, and I was slow to change. By the time I was legal, we had something, but I wasn't ready to just let go of the family money and make an honest living on the street level. When I finally figured it out, it was too little, too late. We gave it a shot; moved out, got a place in town together, got jobs to make ends meet. Before too long, she decided she just couldn't do it; I'd dragged it out too much, and she wasn't able to let go of all the bad memories."

"So she left," William guessed.

"Yup," Jim said bluntly. "Came home one night to find her on the way out the door. Haven't seen or heard from her ever since; I've been looking, but no luck. Never been able to bring myself to try for another girl since, either."

"My family's been harassing Catriona and her... brothers, I suppose the best word would be... ever since they've been built," William told him after another long pause. "I'll always be grateful to them for looking out for her. She's brave, but that kind of continual abuse... I'm afraid it'll do that to her, eventually."

"Then don't wait for it to happen," Jim suggested. "Look, kid. This thing over in Constanta... I can't be sure, but it might be bad. If we..." He took a deep breath. "If we don't come back from this, then call it off. Your uncle wouldn't want you throwing away your life like that. Before it's too late, take Miss Catriona, and get out. Prove to her that she's all that really matters to you, while she still needs to know that. The other two might come with you, but if they don't, they're tough guys. They'll be able to handle themselves. What's important is her. Don't make the same mistakes I did, okay? You deserve better than that, and so does she."

"I suppose if the Hunters are involved, asking if this lead you have is really that dangerous would be a bit redundant," William noted calmly, though his eyes were wide again. "Perhaps you should tell me what it is, after all."

"Don't really think so, boss," Jim disagreed. "That's what you pay guys like us for, isn't it? Taking the risks. And in this case, knowledge is dangerous. If we disappear like your uncle did... well, that's all you need to know, isn't it?"

"Indeed it is." William slowly nodded. "You've given me a lot to think about, Mr. Near. I suppose I should thank you."

"Don't bother," Jim told him, cracking a smirk. "I ain't no angel, kid. Only reason I'm going on like this is because it's personal. Otherwise, I never would have bothered. I meant it, though. Whether we come back from this one or not, the longer Miss Catriona has to put up with that, the worse your chances of it working out are gonna be. If your uncle's gone, you don't have anything at all tying you down. And if we do bring him back?" He shrugged. "Talk this over with him, and I'd put twenty bucks on him agreeing with me."

"It does seem likely," William admitted. "Perhaps I have been avoiding that problem for too long. I'll talk with Catriona, and we'll decide what we want to do with our future."

"You do that." Jim finished his coffee, stood up and shook his hand. "I'll call you again if we find anything else. If not..."

"Those tickets will be ready tomorrow morning," William promised. "I should be able to get them for later this week."

"Then we'll take a look around, and see what's down the rabbit hole." Jim nodded, heading out. "Good luck, kid."

There was no sign of the elder Martel's goons when he returned outside, fortunately; they'd even left his car unmolested. Even better, the rain had actually stopped, though he wasn't counting on that lasting for long. All the same, he saw no reason not to enjoy it while he had the chance, and drove off in better spirits than he had been all day, despite his still-present paranoia. Even if the worst happened, at least he'd done something right, and stopped the past from repeating itself in one small way. Again, once he was on the road, he dialed up a number on his cell phone, this time calling Henry.

"We good?" He asked as soon as he picked up.

"We good," Jim confirmed. "We'll have tickets by tomorrow. Until then, probably not much we can do on this case, except for Dixon."

"We can try researching it on the 'net," Henry suggested. "That won't take all of us, though. One, maybe two." His voice was turning anxious, and it was fairly easy for Jim to guess the cause of that.

"Why don't you two stick around the office today and do that, then?" He told him. "I'll stay outside and work on some other stuff out here. The Handleman account, for starters, I think; give running him down another try. Kill some time, and then we'll see what Dixon has to say when he gets back."

"Sounds like a plan, boss," Henry agreed. "We'll be here if anything comes up. Give that bum one for me if you catch him, right?"

"Can do." Jim chuckled. "See you later, Blake."

The rest of the day seemed to pass in a blur. He went about his job like he was running on autopilot, doing what he knew how to without thinking about it any more than was absolutely necessary. By the time the sun was setting, he didn't really remember much of the details, and that more than anything else made him pause in concern; in his line of work, that was something of an essential skill. He gave up at that point; it was close to his usual quitting time anyways. After a mental debate, he decided to just skip going to the _Poe Club_ and headed straight home; in his current state, there was no real point.

The nervous feeling only increased once he'd returned to his apartment; the sense of being constantly observed was joined by an unreasonable feeling that intruders had been there while he was gone, even though nothing was out of place. He even went so far as to begin searching the apartment for anything that was visibly different, and the fact that absolutely nothing was only served to make him more worried about whether something completely ordinary was in fact only a couple inches off from where he'd left it.

Eventually, he forced himself to go to bed, but was still too keyed up to sleep. Turning on his television, he flipped through channel after channel, finding nothing to watch at all. Some of the shows were staggeringly out of date, and not in the sense that they were being replayed by popular demand, either. No matter how many channels he went through, nothing caught his attention in even the slightest way. It did fulfill its goal, though; everything he saw was so boring, he eventually drifted off to sleep.

His last thought, as he nodded off, was that despite the subject matter of his conversation with William, today had been the first day in more than ten years that he hadn't heard Coral's voice inside his head even once.

* * *

The next day was the first in a long time that Jim arrived at the office before any of the others. He hadn't come in any earlier than normal, either; when he walked in at his usual time, the room was dark and empty, with no signs of life. After a few long moments, he forced himself to turn the lights on and start the coffee brewing, as if nothing was wrong. It _could_ just have been that everybody else was running late, after all. There was no reason to panic just yet; that could wait until after he'd given them some time to come in, and checked up on them himself.

Powering up his computer, he poured himself a mug and began checking for any news over in Romania that would be relevant. Unfortunately, the internet connection was shoddy on the best of days, and today didn't seem to be one of them; after several minutes of wrestling with it and barely getting anything, he gave up for the moment and started playing solitaire. Soon after that, his patience was rewarded, as Henry walked in, looking irritated, with Debra on his heels.

"Sorry we're late, boss," he said. "Slept like shit. First time I've snoozed through the alarm since I was a snot-nosed brat."

"Ditto," Debra added. "Blake's couch was surprisingly comfortable."

"You spent the night at Blake's?" Jim asked, raising an eyebrow. "Something I should know about going on here?"

"Doubtful," Debra replied as calmly as ever; only the way her eyes darted around the room betrayed her mental state. "I haven't been interested in men since high school, remember? And even that was mostly bluffing."

"Neither one of us felt like being in the place alone would be a good idea, I guess." Henry shrugged, trying to make it look just as casual. "Don't even remember who asked who. Just kind of happened." He frowned, growing more serious. "Probably after we figured out neither you or Dixon were coming by the club that night. Heard from him?"

"Dixon?" Jim blinked. "Now that you mention it, nope. Figured he'd stop by the office or the club and check in with you guys again once he was done for the day. Sorry about bailing on you, by the way. Just didn't feel up to it."

"Well, he didn't," Henry growled. "We haven't seen or heard from him ever since he headed off yesterday."

"Could be _he_ got lucky," Debra suggested. "With that Hunter girl, remember? She was pretty cute."

"He'd have called ahead to let us know if he had," Jim pointed out, then paused. "Probably. I guess this _is_ Dixon we're talking about."

"Somebody call him up then," she told them. "Dixon's a little flighty, but he's not stupid enough to ignore that."

"I'll do it," Henry offered, grabbing the phone and dialing as he sat down.

"I'm guessing you slept like a log?" Debra asked as she took a seat behind her own desk. "Some guys have all the luck."

"As if." Jim snorted. "Took me forever to drop off. Eventually had to turn to watching baseball to do it. The game was the _least_ boring thing on, thanks to all those repeats."

"You noticed, huh?" Debra smiled faintly. "At least I know enough about the game to figure out why New York stomped Boston so badly."

"What?" Jim frowned. "You must have dozed off before the end of the game. I might not know shit about baseball, but I can follow a scoreboard, and Boston were the ones who were ahead at the end of it."

"Channel 42?" Debra asked slowly. "Around ten?"

"That was it, yeah," Jim said, nodding. "Let's... let's ask Blake. He actually keeps up with this stuff. Hey, Blake, who won last night? New York or Boston?"

"The Yankees edged out a win, according to the newspaper I picked up today." Henry replied without putting down his phone, a frustrated look on his face. "You must have been sleepier than you thought, Jim."

Jim and Debra exchanged a long look.

"Maybe I was," Jim admitted cautiously. "But I wasn't sleepy enough to confuse the Yankees with the _Dodgers_, Blake."

"What?" Blake dropped his phone, turning to stare at them. "The Dodgers haven't played for New York in nearly two hundred years! Were you two watching the _history_ channel?"

"No chance," Jim replied, fighting the urge to panic. "It looked like it was supposed to be last night's game to me."

"Same here," Debra agreed, clutching the edge of her desk so hard her knuckles began to whiten. "What the hell is going on?"

"I don't know, but Dixon's not picking up." Henry threw the phone into the wall in a sudden burst of anger.

"We're screwed, aren't we?" Jim asked after a long, silent moment. "Should have run for it when we had the chance."

"Not yet, we aren't." Henry picked the phone back up again. "I've got one last bolthole. My old buddies in the Hunters. We call them up, tell them the story, and ask them for help. Maybe they'll even 'haul us in for questioning,' if we're lucky."

"Ask about that girl, Suzy, too," Debra replied, eyes narrowing. "With Dixon MIA, I'm suddenly a lot more suspicious about her story. Did _you_ ever hear about anything like that going in around that part of the world?"

"Nah, but that don't mean much," Henry replied as he fiddled with his phone. "Whole lot of shit that I didn't hear about. I was just a grunt, remember? This piece of shit can go... wait, is Romania over near Russia?"

Jim and Debra exchanged another long glance.

"Relatively," Debra told him. "In that they both border the Black Sea, yes."

"Just how many seas are there around that country, then?" Blake muttered, still not looking up from his phone. "Because I don't know if this is it, but there _was_ something funny about one of them over in eastern Europe I remember."

"Funny how?" Jim asked cautiously.

"Way I heard it, the area around this sea-whether it's _this_ sea or not-had _never_ seen the slightest trace of Maverick activity," Henry explained. "Not once. Infected or natural. Not one single time, ever since Reploids were created."

A moment later, the lights went out in the building.

"Shit," Jim snarled, head darting around even though he was completely blind in the dark. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit! That does it, grab your hardware! We're getting out of here! Now!" Pulling open a desk drawer, he grabbed the magpistol he kept in it and checked the safety by feel, keeping it in his hand as he stepped back from the desk.

"Fire escape?" Henry asked, rummaging around in his desk.

"It's our best chance," Debra agreed. "We're still probably dead, but a slim chance is better than no-" She fell silent in mid-sentence, and the noise of her movement was gone as well.

"Doyle?" Jim asked, voice quickly rising to a shout. "_Doyle?_"

"They got her!" Henry roared. "They'll get us too, but I ain't going down without taking-" His voice cut off, just like Debra's had, and what sounded like his own magpistol clattered to the floor, echoing in the darkness.

Without another word, Jim bolted for the door, and made it within two feet of it before unseen metal appendages snatched him from the ground in midstep, as efficiently as well-aimed butterfly net. In the same moment, a gag was stuffed into his mouth and the magpistol was pried from his hand, to be discarded just like Blake's had. He struggled, despite the harsh angularity of whatever limbs were grabbing him, but to no avail; the mechanical assailant had him bound as tightly as if he were wearing a straitjacket.

"That's all three of them." A dead, obviously mechanical voice unlike any reploid he'd ever heard spoke from behind his head. "They're still our only targets, yes?"

"At the moment," an identical voice replied from the direction of Debra's desk. "They've been smart enough to refrain from telling others anything hazardous. There may be further activity from those who know what they were doing in the future, however."

"If that happens, then we'll deal with it when the time comes," a third voice, just like the other two, chimed in. "Corrections must be kept to a minimum, in order to preserve our invisibility. The time has not yet come to return to the outer world. For now, we have our current task to complete. We will return home immediately."

"Agreed," the other two voices replied. A moment later, some sort of gas was released into Jim's mouth from the gag, and against his will he inhaled it.

The darkness swam around him, and then it was gone.

* * *

Stirring, Jim slowly opened his eyes.

He was in a steel cube a hundred feet or so square, lit from overhead, with one window that took up the entirety of the wall, apparently made of transparent plasteel. Through it, he saw dark water, so deep that its inhabitants were only the barest flickers of distinguishable motion. Judging by the movement he was feeling, the cube was descending even deeper; how long it would do so was anybody's guess.

Henry and Debra were both in the cube with him, along with their captors, who still held them; their eyes flickered over to Jim's, taking in his awakening, but there was no spark of hope at all. Their abductors were mechanical monstrosities, amalgamations of limbs and tentacles like combinations of octopus and spider, on top of humanoid legs with no traces of anything resembling a face or head at all. Looking down, Jim could see the limbs of his own captor still tightly wrapped around his body, holding him in the air.

He had no idea how long it was, but eventually, after even the last flickers of light had faded from the water outside, the elevator ground to a halt, and the wall opposite the window raised itself, revealing what looked like a delivery room on the other side. Crates were all that it contained, aside from a single door and the ceiling lights. At least, so they thought, until the robots carried them inside, and they saw the room's other inhabitant.

"Go ahead and let them go," Suzy, the Maverick Hunter in the hot pink armor with the huge, pretty eyes told the robots coolly. She was leaning against one wall while standing on a crate, idly tossing something spherical up and down in one hand, and she seemed to be chewing on something, muffling her voice. The robots obeyed her instantly, dropping all three unceremoniously onto the floor. Watching them, she raised an eyebrow as they all remained silent and motionless. "Well? What are you waiting for? Aren't you going to ask what's going on here?"

"What's the point?" Debra replied quietly, staring at the floor. "We're fucked. It's fairly obvious. Why pretend otherwise?"

"Oooh, sharp," Suzy said mockingly. "You're right, of course. But I was really looking forward to this part; it's one of my favorites, after all. And if we're not going to do it... well, there's no reason not to just take you on through there, now is there?" She indicated the door; it was blank and featureless, absolutely unremarkable in any way, but something indefinable about it scared Jim more than the robots, or the facility, or even Suzy. "If I were you, I'd do anything I could to put that off as long as possible. But hey, what do I know?"

"Quite a bit, I'm guessing," Henry growled. "Pretty impressive work, for a fake Maverick Hunter."

"And who said I was fake?" Suzy smirked. "I'm a real member of the 6th Unit, Mr. Blake. I kill Mavericks for a living, just like everyone else in my Unit. What I do with my vacation time isn't anybody's business but my own... for now, anyways." She made a face. "After that disaster with Joe in the 7th Unit, we can't take any more risks."

"Joe?" Jim glanced at Henry.

"Traitor," Henry said after a long moment. "Tried to take out Commander Signas. Nobody ever figured out why. We all thought he was just some lone nutjob. Looks like we were wrong." He raised his eyes to glare at Suzy. "Just how many people do you have inside the Hunters?"

"Now that's the kind of information I probably _shouldn't_ be giving out, even to a bunch of dead men." Suzy waved a finger. "Besides, it's not like that matters to you down here."

"Down here, huh?" Jim chuckled weakly, without any humor. "I'd ask where 'down here' was, but I've got a good guess. This is it, isn't it? The Black Sea, out that window. Where we were investigating. You pulled us in because we were finding out too much. If we're just killing time, I have to admit, I'm kind of curious as to how exactly you got us here. I can't imagine these freaks buying plane tickets like everybody else." He inclined his head towards the abductor robots, who'd gone silent and motionless after dropping them.

"Oh, that's easy," Suzy replied cheerfully. "They teleported. Come on, you can do better than that."

"_Teleported?_" Jim yelped as Henry fell backwards, swearing, and Debra's head finally snapped up, eyes wide with a new fear. "You crazy bitch, what's wrong with you? We're _human!_ Why don't you just blow our heads off and get it over with?"

"Oh, stop." Suzy rolled her eyes, still chewing whatever it was. "Relax. MI9 cracked the secret to safe human teleportation decades ago, and we picked it up a few years back. You're fine-at least for now. As for that other question..." She looked them over, and Jim shivered. "That's because we've got uses for you, and it's better that we keep you as fresh as possible. Two of you, anyways." She glanced at Debra. "You, I'm afraid, are useless to us. We'll probably just draw lots on who gets to kill you in the end."

"And Dixon?" Debra asked, voice amazingly calm, considering how much her hands were shaking. "Was he 'useful' too?"

"Oh, him?" Suzy scoffed. "For spare parts, I guess. And unlike with humans, they keep. We went ahead and dismantled him yesterday. Ninety-eight percent of poor old Dixon is in some storage area or another now, I'm afraid."

"And the other two percent?" Jim asked warily, knowing he would probably regret doing so, but unable to stop himself.

"A little reward for me," Suzy told him smugly, swallowing audibly. "I really did kind of like him, after all. And maybe it means I read too many old 20th century comic books, but I've always had this thing for eyes." She finally stopped tossing what she had in her hand around, and they saw what it was.

"Oh, god." Henry choked. "You're sick!"

"Maybe." Suzy shrugged. "I really don't care." She started to pop it into her mouth, then paused as the door swung sharply open, and all three of them flinched back from the scowling nightmare who walked through it.

It was a face that everybody on the planet, human or reploid, knew by now. He stood nearly seven feet, built like a brick wall, in heavy, blood-red armor. That meant nothing, though; he'd changed bodies so many times that this one was probably as temporary as fashion among teenagers. It was his head that identified him as the world's greatest monster. Bald, with a heavy jaw and twin, vertical scars over his eyes that he kept through every incarnation.

"Done?" Suzy asked, eyes suddenly glittering with amusement. "That was fast. Then again, your little meetings with him usually are. Maybe you should be careful, Sigma. He might start thinking you don't like him, if you keep that up."

"Oh god, no..." Debra whispered, staring at Sigma, who regarded them all with slight curiosity. "That's who you work for? Him?"

"Huh?" Suzy blinked, surprised, then laughed mockingly. "That's a new one on me! Us, work for _him?_ No, no, no, he's just... visiting." She stopped, then glanced at Sigma again. "Although... you _are_ useless to us, so I suppose we might as well let him have you. What do you say, big guy? Free human to kill, no charge. Call it a present from the Faithful. Looks like she's just your type, too. Terrified. That's how you like them, right? Go on, have some fun."

"You bitch, I'll-" Henry started to snarl, rising from the floor, but his captor robot jumped him, binding and gagging him once more.

Jim watched, furious but powerless, as Sigma walked over to Debra, who remained sprawled where she was, so scared that she wasn't even able to move. Bending over, he raised one huge hand to her, stroking her throat almost delicately. It would only take one, quick twist of his fingers to snap her neck, they all knew, and Sigma held her for a long, silent moment, staring down into her eyes with a blank face.

Then he stood again, and with a lightning-quick movement, whirled and pinned Suzy to the wall by her neck instead, lifting her off the ground.

"You forget yourself," the Maverick King told her flatly, watching her struggles without any sign of emotion. "I am not one of your Faithful, little girl. Your master holds no power over me, and I have no need to worship him. Our association is due to common interest, nothing more, and if I were to tear you apart here and now, he would care nothing. _You_ are nothing, little Faithful. I suggest you not try asking me to take your trash out for you again. My patience has its limits, and you are very close to breaching them."

Throwing her across the room as easily as if she were a ragdoll, he turned back to Debra and examined her clinically before speaking again. "I thought you were people were all about practicality. Efficiency. If the human is useless, just dispose of her. One shot to the head, quick and clean, and then throw the body in the incinerator. Simple." He chuckled sardonically. "Unless you want _him_ to think you're wasting time, that is?"

"You heard him," Suzy rasped, clutching her throat, as she stood back up. "Do it. Kill the woman."

One of the captor robots unfolded a gun barrel from among its mess of limbs, and executed Debra with one shot.

"Bastard!" Jim yelled, standing up to rush at Sigma himself, only for his own abductor robot to snatch him up as easily as Henry's had.

"She died quick and clean, as I said," Sigma told him, turning his head to look at Jim. "I doubt she felt any pain at all, and if she did, it was only for a moment. That's more than I would have given her, had she been mine to kill." Turning away, he walked towards the elevator. "In time, you two will wish you were as lucky as she was. You may even wish you _had_ fallen into my hands. I would simply have killed you. Not quickly, or cleanly, but it would have ended in a relatively short period of time. What awaits you now will make even a slow death seem a mercy."

It was a ridiculous notion, but as the elevator door dropped, Jim almost thought he saw something remotely akin to pity in the eyes of the Maverick King.

"Drop them, already," Suzy snarled once Sigma was gone, her playful mood clearly spoiled. "They're not going anywhere. You take the garbage to the incinerator. You two, come with me. We'll bring these ones in to see the master." The robots complied, dumping Jim and Henry on the floor again, as the third one moved over to gather up Debra's remains.

"And if we don't come?" Jim asked with the last of his bravado.

"Do you really want me to answer that?" Suzy shot back, walking over to the lone door and opening it again.

Sharing a hopeless glance, the two of them followed her, the robots following close behind, as the third one carried the corpse back into the elevator.

The facility was a maze of hallways, many of them equipped with ridiculous features, apparently as security devices, though Jim soon concluded that they were simply signs of the architect's diseased mentality. Suzy led them past every one without comment; at one point, she summoned a hoverlift to carry them across a mile-long passage in which every surface was covered with electrified spikes. At another, she pressed a panel in the wall to activate a set of stairs that would take them past a series of block platforms that appeared and vanished in the air in a complicated pattern.

More than the facility's layout, it was the sheer size of it that staggered Jim as they continued to move through it. He'd expected an outpost, a hidden lair, but this was more than that. It was practically a fortress buried in the Black Sea, containing everything from robot factories to garages containing every kind of vehicle imaginable. Most of it seemed to be automated; he saw no other reploids aside from Suzy, but there were plenty of lower-level robots like the ones that had kidnapped them, in dozens of shapes and forms, all horrific.

What he _did_ see was a strange emblem that seemed to be everywhere; in the dim light that seemed to be prevalent throughout the facility, he couldn't make it out clearly, but it looked like a circle with jagged lines running through it horizontally. The closest thing he could compare it to was the teeth of some horrific monster, something that didn't improve the feeling of despair. Henry took it even worse; every time they passed it, the larger man blanched, and before long he was muttering to himself under his breath.

"Hey," Jim hissed as they walked across a balcony over another spikepit. Briefly, he considered hurling himself into it, but only for a moment; deep inside, he knew he'd never have the guts to actually do it. "You recognize that thing?"

"Can't be," Henry murmured, not looking at him. "Got to be some kind of sick joke. Can't really be that."

"Can't really be what?" Jim demanded quietly.

"Shut up back there," Suzy called back sharply. "We've almost arrived." A steel shutter was up ahead; on either side of it stood a humanoid reploid in a fanciful, white-and-gold uniform consisting of bodysuit, cloak and helmet. Both were tall enough to loom over even the abductor robots, but that was where their similarities ended. The one on the left was lean and pale, with a hideous leer and empty eyes, while the other was larger than some vehicles, with shoulders spanning at least three feet and blocky, tanned features.

"All hail the eternal," both of them said in unison as Suzy stopped before them.

"All hail he who is both man and machine," Suzy replied clinically before glancing over her shoulder. "Got those two from the last incident in. Went off without a hitch. The master always likes to talk with them at first."

"We are aware, Suzy," the thin one said in a high, sing-song voice. "There were supposed to be three, though." He cackled then, a staccato screech without any trace of humor. "Perhaps it didn't go as well as you think it did?"

"The third was a woman, Lord Mantisk," Suzy said firmly. "Useless for the master's experiments. I had her disposed of."

"That was well done of you, Suzy," the huge one rumbled. "It was a correct judgment, and you were efficient in carrying it out without seeking unnecessary verification."

"Thank you, Lord Kelverian." Suzy bowed her head. "How is he today?"

"Whimsical," Mantisk murmured, rolling his eyes. "I can't say I'd like to be your two boytoys today." He laughed again.

"And who are these two?" Jim asked her sarcastically. "Laurel and Hardy?"

"Huh?" Mantisk blinked, uncomprehending.

"Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy," Kelverian said after a moment. "20th century human comedians. It was a joke, you dolt." He waited a moment more before continuing. "Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha."

"Oooooh, a funny one!" Mantisk drawled, then disappeared in a blur of movement before a sharp pain pricked at the side of Jim's head. He didn't turn to look; he knew that if he did, he would move his face right into the edge of the blade being held there. "I _like_ the funny ones. Will you still be funny after I slice you and dice you and put you back together the wrong way around?"

"That's enough, Mantisk," Kelverian growled. "The master will want to see them. And to use them. He can't do that if you kill them first."

"Oh, fine." Mantisk stepped back to his previous position, holding a ridiculously huge scythe for a moment before it vanished into a blur of light. "That's always the most fun of all anyways! Hee hee hee hee hee!"

"May we proceed, then?" Suzy asked formally.

"Go," Kelvarian replied, and the shutter raised open. Suzy led the two of them and their captors through, and it closed behind them.

It was like an auditorium; level after level of seats descended down further and further from the back where they'd entered in a rough semicircle. There was no stage or podium at the bottom and center, however; instead, the entire far wall, top to bottom, was made of transparent plasteel like that in the elevator. Also like the elevator, on the other side was dark, unlit water, although in this case a floor and walls beyond the other side seemed to indicate that it was an enclosed tank rather than a window into the Black Sea.

"Nice try," Suzy told Jim as they descended. "Good instincts; pissing off one of the Judges really _is_ a good way to get yourself killed, and get it over with. Almost a shame it didn't work." As they reached the bottom, she turned towards the tank. "Make them bow." The captor robots forced Jim and Henry to their knees, and Suzy fell to hers as well, head down before the tank.

And then, in the dark water, something moved.

"Ah, here you are..." A speaker set in the base of the tank crackled to life. It was an old man's voice, rough and creaky, and it somehow conveyed both an ancient, tired weariness and a manic sort of energy at the same time. Whatever was in the tank was slowly coming towards them, only barely visible, as it continued to speak. "James Near, son of Nicholas and Marianne Near, refugee from the upper class and private investigator. And Henry Blake, son of Joseph and Jolene Blake, former Maverick Hunter. It's nice to meet you both. I rarely have guests here, you see."

The light was dim, but Jim thought he could see something now; squinting, he stared into the tank's depths, and quickly wished he hadn't. The _thing_ that was speaking was a biomechanical abomination, a mishmash of mechanical parts and human meat that shouldn't even have been capable of moving, let alone speaking. It was like somebody had tried grafting human flesh and muscle onto a reploid interior, then mixed and matched organs and parts and systems on whimsy, before the entire mess had started melting off.

In one moment, he saw a twisted limb, its flesh open from the wrist down, revealing veins and arteries and nerves interspersed with circuitry and coolant tubes. Another glimpse showed him its head, an old man's rotting features frozen in a psychotic grin below obviously mechanical eyes and exposed brain tissue under a plasteel dome. Wires and tubes seemed to be attached to its back, rising to the top of the tank, hundreds of them.

"What are you?" Jim asked as Henry stared in frozen, speechless horror, his crazy mumbling finally cut off.

"I?" The abomination asked mockingly. "I am the only thing that is truly eternal in this world. I am will incarnate." It seemed to regard Suzy, who hadn't moved since it had started to speak. "My Faithful, bring some... tea for our guests."

"As you command, my master," Suzy said quietly, rising and quickly moving towards the back of the room.

"You'll forgive us if it's hardly the best quality," the old man told them. "As I said, we rarely have visitors, and as for my Faithful... well, I try not to encourage robots to act like you humans, unlike the outside world."

"Reploids," Henry said dully, something in that statement apparently having gotten his attention. "Reploids, not robots."

"Oh?" The old man asked sardonically as Suzy came back down the stairs. "Is there a difference, then? Not that it matters. She, and the rest of my Faithful, are not reploids at all, for not a one of them was born from Mega Man X. No, they have another legacy to follow."

"It's canned," Suzy said quietly, placing two sealed containers down before them. "It should still be good. Finding hot water to brew fresh tea would probably have taken me a while."

"Very efficient, my Faithful," the old man told her with mocking approval. "Although I must ask you... where did you find those?"

"The last one, my master," Suzy replied after a short pause that spoke volumes about her mental state at the moment. "The explorer, who these were searching for. He had these in his supplies. I remembered, and dug them out."

"Is he here, then?" Jim asked. "Walter Martel?" Despite the fact that they would never escape to complete the case, and that the remainder of their lives would almost certainly be nasty, brutish and short, it somehow seemed important to learn of the explorer's fate.

"Oh, yes." The old man seemed amused by the question. "Although how much longer he'll remain alive is questionable. He's, shall we say, somewhat closer to his expiration date than you two are." He regarded Suzy again. "Very well. You may go, then, Suzy."

"Yes, my master," Suzy murmured, leaving once more.

"So you're not a reploid, then, I take it?" Jim guessed, ignoring the tea.

"Me?" The old man paused for a moment, then laughed, and it was even more horrible than Mantisk's. "Hee hee ha ha ha... you couldn't be more wrong if you tried, boy. As a matter of fact, you could say I'm almost the exact opposite of a reploid. If a reploid is a machine that seeks to be a man... well, I am a man who has become a machine, and now seeks to be a man once more. To surpass the line between the two completely, the way my oldest, best friend failed to do."

"No..." Henry whispered, returning to his terror-stricken state, as he stared into the tank; not at the monstrosity floating there, but beyond it. "Please, god, no... not _him_, anything but him... mother forgive me..."

Against his better judgment, Jim looked into the tank again, squinting his eyes to try and see what was there. There, against the back wall of the tank, was the same emblem that had been all over the facility, the circle with the jagged lines inside. There was something else as well, though, something that he hadn't noticed before, in the upper left corner, just beyond the circle. Letters, two of them, and the jagged lines were a letter as well, he suddenly realized.

And as he read the letters, and recognized the emblem at last, Jim Near knew the name of the abomination that had taken them into its lair, and the terror he had felt before was nothing compared to what he knew then.

"_You_," he whispered. "They... they said you were dead. That you had to be. It's been... fuck, it's been more than fifty years! Half a century! How the hell could you still be... this is impossible. This has to be impossible." He heard his own voice rise into a pitiful whine, and hated himself for it, but could not stop it. "It has to be..."

"My old friend said it best, I suppose," the old man replied slowly. "What was it he said... ah, yes. 'Nothing is impossible.' At the time, I thought him naïve. Foolish, even. And yet, it seems that he was right. _Nothing_ is impossible, boys. An important lesson for you to learn. You'll have a great deal of time to think it over, here with us. If there's one thing we have on our hands here, it's time. I suppose it's for the best, really. As you can see, it's taking me a while to get the hang of my current project. But then, trial and error is the heart of science."

"Please, god, no..." Henry continued to moan, staring at the floor.

"You're wasting your time, you know," the old man advised him. "Not that I'm prepared to claim knowledge of whether God is real or not. To be honest, the matter means nothing to me. You see, even if there is a God, it's become quite apparent that he had no intention of doing anything at all about me. Otherwise, he would have done so a very, very long time ago already."

"Yeah, all right, you like to hear yourself talk," Jim snapped, forcing one last, tiny spark of rebellion to the surface. "We get it. We've got the concept. That's the only reason you brought us in here, isn't it? So _you_ could ramble for a while. Anything else interesting to say, or are we done here?"

Absolute silence followed that statement, as Henry turned his head to stare at him in horror, and the old man in the sea remained quiet as well. Despite his despair, Jim took a tiny glimmer of satisfaction in that; it might have only been for a moment, but he'd succeeded in shutting the old man up. That was something. It wasn't much, but it was something.

"When you put it that way, I suppose I might as well show you to your rooms," the old man finally said, as the abductor robots snatched them up once again. "You're going to be staying there for quite a while, as I've said; I'll have to wait for you to age a little more before... using you. They're a little on the small side, I'm afraid, but you'll get used to them; you don't really have a choice in the matter. The next time I see you... well, you'll still be alive for a great deal of time, but you'll probably wish you weren't fairly quickly. All in all, boys... I'm afraid you've come to a rather dreadful end, now haven't you? And you didn't even touch your tea."

They took them, then, and carried them away to another part of the facility, to a row of vertical canisters. They stripped them, separated them and shoved them down into a canister each, so tight that Jim couldn't move his arms, or legs, at all. Tubes were inserted into his mouth and attached to his nose, and then the canister was closed, and he knew without even trying to shout that it would be absolutely soundproof.

And then the waiting began.


End file.
